Riding Pillion
by frostygossamer
Summary: Dean was kidnapped by bikers at age thirteen, and had been traded as a slave for many years. A grownup Sam has finally tracked him down. Sam/Dean Warnings inside - COMPLETE. Title changed to avoid removal.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Dean was kidnapped by bikers at age thirteen, and had been traded as a slave for many years. An adult Sam has finally tracked him down. AU Sam/Dean wincest Warning: mention of past non-con.

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A/N: Sam and Dean's ages in this are about 22 and 26 years old. 'Riding bitch' is here equivalent to 'riding pillion' in this context.

Warnings for past non-con sexual slavery, eventual wincest, but nothing graphic.

N.B. No offence to actual bikers intended. Any resemblance to reality would come as a complete surprise to me.

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Riding Bitch (Part 1) by frostygossamer

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Cassie and Dean sat in the back of Chopsaw's truck, half hidden by a tarp, sharing the cigarette Cassie had bummed at the last truck stop. They spoke in whispers, not wanting to be found together by members of the biker gang.

"How long you been riding bitch, Cassie?" Dean asked quietly.

He liked Cassie. Despite everything she had been through, she was still so sweet and chirpy.

Cassie smiled. "Must be almost six years now, I guess," she replied. "My dad, he got himself murdered. My mom went to pieces. Me, I just drifted. Fell in with some real nasty people, and the wrong guy. What a guy. He got me hooked on smack and then he traded me."

"Your boyfriend did that? Traded you to bikers?" Dean asked, disgusted.

Sometimes Dean like to pretend he was Cassie's boyfriend. It would have been nice to have had himself a girl, nice and normal. He would have taken good care of her, the way he used to take good care of his baby brother.

"Yeah," Cassie agreed. "Nice guy, huh? Guess my mom musta reckoned I was just a runaway."

"That's tough," Dean sympathized. "You miss her?"

Cassie chuckled mirthlessly. "Every day."

She took the smoke back from Dean and took a draw.

"And you?" she asked.

Dean generally tried not to think about his family. It hurt to remember. Chopsaw didn't want him remembering any sort of life before.

"There was just the three of us," Dean explained wistfully. "We were raised by my dad, me and my kid brother. Mom, she died when I was four. Sam was a baby. They snatched me off of the street as I walked back to the motel from the grocery store. I was thirteen."

The bikers had come up behind him. He heard their engines but there was no place to run. They grabbed him right up off of the sidewalk. He was a tough kid. His dad had trained him that way. But he was only thirteen. The groceries he had bought were left spilled out on the ground.

Cassie gasped. "Nearly fourteen years ago?" She shook her head. "Guess we're a couple sad cases, huh?"

Dean nodded. "Someday we're gonna get out of this, Cassie," he told her, slipping his arm around her waist.

"Someday," she agreed, laying her head against his shoulder.

They stayed that way until Cassie heard Bolo angrily calling her name, and scurried off to see what it was he needed.

That was the last time Dean saw Cassie Robinson alive.

~oOo~

That same night, as Dean lay on the dirty old mattress beside Chopsaw, who owned him, feigning sleep, he heard a female shriek and knew that Bolo was beating on Cassie again. He lay there listening to her scream and beg, and prayed that she would be OK.

Everything in him told Dean to run to Cassie and haul that mother off of her. But he knew, with a hopeless sinking heart, that there was no way he could do a damn thing about it.

Next morning he watched Bolo load a rolled-up old rug in the back of Chopsaw's pick-up and drive away. Dean drew in a dismayed gasp when he saw a pair of little dusky feet sticking out of the end of the roll.

"Cassie..." he breathed silently.

When the pick-up came back an hour later, the rug was gone. Bolo had dumped Cassie's body someplace.

So much for getting out.

~oOo~

When the bikers had first abducted Dean, he had fought them, fought like a wildcat. But he was a kid, despite all his dad's training, only a kid. He was beat down and worse until he finally gave up fighting.

He had prayed then too, prayed that John would find him. But prayers had eventually died on his lips, and he had learned to accept that he wasn't going to be saved.

The bikers traded him like a commodity, like so many stolen girls, and boys too, as a servant, a sex slave and a punching bag.

He had tried to stay strong, to keep himself fit, to stay alert, always searching for a chance to escape. Eventually he learned the hard way that fighting back, resisting, talking back, only made the punishment harder. To stay alive he had to buckle. He had been broken. All hope of rescue, all hope of escape, was long gone. Now all he knew was how to submit. But he had survived, so far.

Over the years he had been owned by a string of ugly, fat sleazebags and sadistic psychos. Chopsaw was just the most recent of the latter. Chopsaw and his buddy Bolo were a couple of the coldest, nastiest sociopathic monsters in the biker fraternity. Even in this community of crazies these two guys stood out. That was why Chopsaw was the boss of the gang.

Bolo was Chopsaw's lieutenant, every bit as violent and sadistic as the boss but way less smart. The one good thing about him, from Dean's point of view, was that he preferred his bitches female. But of course that didn't mean he wouldn't deliver anyone a beat-down given any half-assed excuse.

Chopsaw was a piece of work. The guy was clever, evilly so, and cruel. He took enormous delight in the mayhem he created and the suffering he caused. The boss's gang were loyal. Mainly because a guy rarely survived crossing him. No one had ever turned on him and remained in one piece. He wasn't known as Chopsaw for nothing.

Chopsaw treated Dean like garbage. Surviving him was going to be the hardest challenge Dean had ever faced.

~oOo~

John had waited an hour in the motel room for Dean to get back from the store, getting more impatient by the minute. Finally he decided to go look for him.

"God knows where the hell your damn brother has gotten himself to, Sam," he told his nine-year-old youngest. "You stay here. Gonna go look for the boy. He better not be romancing some little chick."

Sam grinned. He knew his big brother had an eye for a pretty girl. He also knew that, despite his nagging, John was secretly proud of his son's skill with the ladies, even so young. Dean was going to be a heartbreaker. Just like his dear old dad.

John retraced the steps Dean should have taken to the store. The store clerk remembered the cocky teenager all too well, and he remembered the pack of cigarettes the boy had five-fingered.

On the way back, John put his head in the bar next door, just in case, but no Dean. He was almost back at the motel when he spotted the groceries spilled on the roadside. A carton of milk draining into the gutter bore the photo of some other lost kid.

John never saw his eldest again.

~oOo~

John had taken losing his firstborn hard. He was broken by the death of Mary, shattered by the loss of Dean. He wasn't going to risk losing Sam. Time was he had told himself he should keep his family together. Time was. But he had realized bitterly how that had been one bad idea.

When Sam was all he had left, John reasoned that the kid would be better off, and safer, in foster care than on the road. So he handed his youngest over to Child Protection, who found him a foster home. Actually they were to find him several foster homes.

As John dropped Sam off for the last time he told his son,

"Be a good boy, Sam. Mind what they tell ya. They're gonna take care of you now. Send you to school regular. You'll like that."

Sam had beamed up at him, always a little nerd about school. John had ruffled his hair with his big calloused hand.

"I'll come visit often as I can. Don't you worry."

Then he patted his remaining son on the head and flashed his teeth sadly. He got back in his truck, waved once and drove away out of Sam's life.

~oOo~

Time passed. Sam grew up.

Sam went to school every day, and he liked it. With the support of his case worker, he graduated high school, got into Stanford, then he met a pretty girl named Jessica and talked about settling down. Basically he had a near enough normal life. The first nine years seemed like someone else's life.

He heard from John once in a while, communicating via John's old friend Bobby Singer. Sam heard how John was still hunting that wife-killer demon, heard how close he had gotten, how narrowly he had missed, how soon he was going to get that bastard once and for all.

He also heard from Bobby whenever John thought he had picked up a lead about his lost brother, heard a rumour he had been seen, traced a man who claimed to know where he was, who he had been with, where he was going, that he was even alive. But those little news highlights soon petered out.

For the first year after Dean's disappearance, John had largely set aside his hunt for the yellow-eyed demon to hunt for his boy, following biker gangs around the US, wasting good dollars on useless informants. But he had hit a wall. The biker fraternity weren't talking. The biker fraternity never talked. And no one talked about them. Too scared. You just didn't cross those people. Ever.

After that, John went back to hunting yellow-eyes full time. He had finally realized that he had more chance of winning against the monsters than the bikers. But as he travelled around, he kept his eyes and ears open. Never once stopped looking and listening.

Until he was stopped.

~oOo~

Dean had been with Chopsaw for a little over six months. The first time he had set eyes on the psycho biker his immediate thought was, "Jeez, I pray that guy is straight."

Maybe he was, but as it happened that didn't signify much. Chopsaw wasn't real interested in sexual orientation, even his own, because what really turned him on wasn't pleasure. It was pain. What the boss liked to do was hurt.

Right before that Dean had belonged to Greasy Mike for nearly two years. Mike was a pig of a man, fat as a house and stinking of sweat and motor oil. Mercifully motor oil was pungent enough to kill most other aromas.

Belonging to a lard-ass whose love for food eclipsed most other things had some advantages. Mike didn't move too fast. He slept a lot. He was easily distracted when he was hungry. And as for sex, Dean's gag reflex had gotten pretty weak by then anyway, and he had learned to close his eyes tight and dissociate.

Then Chopsaw came along. Greasy Mike and he had business. Mike was going to move some product for him and he needed some surety on the deal. To show his goodwill Mike threw in some sweeteners, including a couple girls and a couple boys.

That night Chopsaw would choose a new bitch for himself and Dean found himself with a dilemma. Look too weak, look too defiant, look too young, get yourself chosen. Which way to NOT get picked? Dean's looks had always been his curse.

There was nothing Dean could have done about it. Truth was Dean just looked like a guy who needed subjugating somehow, too pretty, too proud. And Chopsaw took enormous delight in breaking him in.

~oOo~

Sam was hovering on the edge of sleep, arm around his fiancee Jess as she dreamed peacefully in bed beside him, his head full of law books and test papers.

The cell phone on his nightstand lit up and hummed quietly, shimmying toward him. He picked it up lazily and flipped it open. "BOBBY" it read.

"Hi, Bobby," Sam answered.

"Sam," Bobby responded, and Sam knew right away, from his flat tone, that something was very wrong.

"Dad?" he asked anxiously. "Is Dad OK? What happened? Has he been hurt?"

On the other end of the line, Bobby sighed.

"So sorry..." That was as much as he could get out.

"No, Bobby, no," Sam moaned softly. "Not Dad."

But he had been waiting for this call all his life, this inevitable call. It was just... too soon.

"He went after that damned yellow-eyed bastard again. Got the drop on him. I am so sorry, Sam," Bobby replied, affirmation implicit.

And there it was. Sam was the sole surviving Winchester. He switched off his cell and just stared into the dark. Jess turned over in bed and cuddled up against him.

"Who wuz 'at?" she murmured sleepily.

"No one," Sam replied. "Go back to sleep. Tell you in the morning."

~oOo~

It was nearly a month later before the boxes of Sam's dad's old stuff arrived FedEx from South Dakota. Bobby had called again, a few days after he had given Sam the bad news about his dad, and had asked him if he wanted the personal stuff John had left at his place. Sam had told him to keep anything he could use, weapons, lore books, whatever, pack up the rest and send it over.

Jess had started to help him go through it. There wasn't a lot. Not much to show for his dad's whole life.

Sam had spent the afternoon crying over the mementoes John had kept of Mary, his mom, a woman Sam couldn't even remember. Jess had tactfully gone out and left him alone a while to grieve. After carefully repackaging John's memories of a lost happiness, Sam finally opened the last box.

What he found inside knocked him sideways.

TBC

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A/N: Poor Dean. I'm making him suffer again. And Sam's grown up without him. So wrong. More soon.


	2. Chapter 2

Summary: Dean was kidnapped by bikers at age thirteen, and had been traded as a slave for many years. An adult Sam has finally tracked him down. AU Sam/Dean wincest Warning: mention of past non-con.

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Riding Bitch (Part 2) by frostygossamer

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When Jess came home a couple hours later, with bags of groceries and Chinese take-out to cheer her special guy up, she saw no sign of him downstairs. She found him in the spare bedroom, pinning photos, notes and post-its all over the walls.

"What the...? What is all this stuff, Sam," she asked, amazed at the paper storm.

Sam grinned. "See this, Jess," he answered. "This," and he gestured with both hands, "is all the stuff Dad put together about my big brother, Dean."

"Your brother?" Jess queried. "I thought... I thought your brother was, well frankly, dead."

Jess knew about Dean. Sam had told her about him soon after they had gotten serious. She had commiserated with him for suffering such a terrible family tragedy, but she reckoned he seemed to have gotten over it, put it behind him. After all it had been his dad's disaster. It had been good for Sam, really. Sam's world had become all school and future plans. His elder brother was just a fond memory, not part of his life.

Sam pursed his lips. "Dad didn't reckon so. Guess it's just possible he was right. Never knew he was still looking so hard."

Jess put her arms around her boyfriend and gave him a little hug.

"Guess it was tough for a father to give up on his child," she remarked. "Even when there was no hope left."

Sam hugged her back and smiled.

"There's always hope, Jess. Some of this stuff is pretty damn recent. Dad's journal mentions a hot lead he picked up just a few months ago. Reckon... Jess, reckon I'm gonna follow it up. If Dad thought there was still any chance..."

Jess nodded. Maybe working on this would help Sam cope with losing his dad, give him something to hope for, however small that hope was.

Later she was going to wish she had never encouraged him.

~oOo~

They were crashing in a crumby squat well outside town. They had been there all week. Chopsaw and his bikers had come to rendezvous with a certain travelling carney. As usual, their purpose was the buying and selling of hard drugs.

Dean did his best to keep out of these kinds of things, but when you're considered as low as mud on a guy's boot, people tend to get loose-lipped around you anyways. Dean tried not to remember stuff he didn't want to know. Which was pretty much everything.

Chopsaw had recently picked up his new Hog. He loved that thing like his baby. He had spent days on the designs for her custom paint job. Dean had to admit that the thing was one beautiful machine. She was the boss's pride and joy. In fact he was still so infatuated with her, he was actually valeting her himself when the stranger appeared.

~oOo~

He was a big guy, dressed all in black leathers, and he was riding a good but less than topline Harley, an older model that looked like it had been modified a whole lot power-wise. He came to a halt right by Chopsaw and eyed the biker's ride appreciatively.

"Beautiful job," he commented, with a broad grin.

Chopsaw gave him a leery look and stood up, wiping his hands on a rag. Other members of the gang stood too and moved menacingly closer. Dean ducked behind the boss's truck to watch unobserved.

The boss was a square-built, muscular guy. The newcomer was muscular too but slimmer at the waist, broader at the shoulder. He also had a good two inches height advantage on Chopsaw.

"She's new," Chopsaw replied, guardedly. "Paint hardly dry."

The guy nodded. "Looking for Chopsaw," he said, glancing around at the crowd.

The boss frowned. "And who'd you be that wants him?" he demanded.

"Buddy of Hound Dog McMurdo," the guy answered, pulling off his helmet. "He sends his love, by the way," he smirked.

He walked right over to Chopsaw, tugging off his gloves as he walked.

"Name's Johnson. Hound Dog's cellmate a couple years."

Chopsaw regarded him suspiciously for a moment.

"Hound Dog McMurdo was a stand-up guy," he said. "Damn shame he went down for life."

"Twelve years," Johnson corrected him, smirking. "But he's doing fine. Guzzlebutt can't get enough of prison food."

The boss broke out in a toothy grin. He high-fived the newcomer.

"Sure sounds like Hound Dog," he agreed. "Chopsaw. That's me."

He threw an arm around the big guy's shoulders, and took him inside the squat.

~oOo~

Johnson came and went from the squat a lot over the next couple weeks. Chopsaw seemed to like him. Dean wondered idly if maybe he was going to join the gang. Be interesting to have a new face around and, from what Dean had seen of him, this Johnson seemed to be a fairly normal guy, for a biker.

One night, when Chopsaw had started drinking early, and was already pretty far gone by evening, Dean went outside to hide away in the truck, and noticed Johnson deep in discussion with Bolo.

Dean climbed inside the truck and sat hunched down in shotgun for a while, with his eyes shut, relishing the opportunity to get some peace away from the boss. He vaguely noticed Bolo go back in the squat, before he felt the truck's door open and someone get in. Thinking it was Chopsaw, he snapped his eyes open.

"Was... Was only..." he stuttered.

Then he saw it was Johnson in the driver's seat.

"It's OK," the guy cut in, smiling. "Chopsaw's asleep. I'm not here to mess with you."

Dean wasn't so sure. He put his hand on the door handle and made to get out.

"Hey, hey, wait," Johnson said, grabbing his hand and pulling it off of the handle. "Wait up a minute. Just wanna talk to you, is all."

Dean stared at him. "Chopsaw wouldn't like..." he began, dragging his hand out of the other guy's grasp.

"Chopsaw can stick it," Johnson retorted.

That dangerous blasphemy made Dean gasp involuntarily. Then Johnson smiled. It seemed like an honest smile, as far as Dean could tell.

"What's your name?" he asked. When Dean didn't reply he asked again, "Tell me your name, huh?"

Dean inhaled. "Dean," he said quickly.

Johnson smiled. "That your real name?" he asked. "Always been 'Dean'?"

Dean nodded. He remembered his dad's voice calling angry from downstairs. His dad... He shook away that thought.

"You have a surname?" Johnson probed further. "What was it, Dean?"

Dean hesitated. Chopsaw got angry if Dean mentioned the past. He didn't want him to remember... before. And Dean? Well, what he could remember hurt.

"It was..." He took a big breath. "Win... chester. Winchester," he managed to stammer out.

It sounded strange to him after so long. Dean recalled his dad telling him to be proud of that name. He used to be proud. But what price pride now?

Johnson slapped the steering wheel with both hands, making Dean flinch.

"Knew it," the guy hissed.

Then Johnson got out of the truck. He turned back to Dean and grinned.

"You and me are gonna be good buddies, Dean Winchester," he said and then he left.

Dean sat there puzzled. He was both scared and intrigued by what Johnson promised. He knew it could not bode well.

~oOo~

Johnson seemed to be an affable enough guy. A little too affable. And Dean began to notice that the guy would watch him whenever he thought the others wouldn't notice. Dean kept out of his way as best he could. He didn't want any trouble. If there was trouble he always got to pay.

Somehow Johnson still managed to catch him alone way to often. Dean didn't like that. It was dangerous. But despite himself he couldn't help liking the way his heart beat a little faster when Johnson was close. It had been the same with Cassie, crazy but compulsive.

Johnson talked to Dean about nonsense. He told him jokes. He chattered on about politics and stuff from the news Dean never got to hear, all flying over Dean's head. But still he liked the sound of the guy's voice and the way his attention was all on him, just friendly and without the undercurrent of filth like he got from the rest.

And in between the prattle, Johnson probed him about Chopsaw and the gang, their operation, their movements. Just a harmless inquiry slipped in here and there, but Dean was no fool and he knew. And pathetic as he was, he told him stuff, because he liked the way he smiled and he wanted him to stick around, to keep on being his buddy.

It was a hard addiction to kick, and Dean knew it was probably going to kill him. Just the same, late at night Dean let himself wonder what Johnson had meant by 'good buddies'. He let himself dream about how it could be to be owned by a straight-up guy like Johnson. A guy who would maybe treat him more like a pet and less like a slave, not hurt him so much and never rent him out. He couldn't help but smile at the idea.

And he figured, if he ever got to choose a guy to be with, Johnson would be the one.

~oOo~

Men with motorcycles like to race, and Chopsaw and the gang were no exception. The boss needed to prove his new Hog was as much alpha amongst the bikes as he was amongst his compadres.

Johnson had his souped up classic machine, and he was keen to swank it. Chopsaw scoffed at his call-out.

"Reckon you can smoke me on that junk pile, bud?" he demanded. "You gotta be on somethin'."

"Smoke ya? Hell, I'd tromp your ass in the dirt, man." Johnson retorted challengingly. "You scared?"

Chopsaw wasn't going to stand around for that sort of bodacious dare.

They were soon on their rides and they were racing. Dean watched from the back of the little crowd that had gathered, as the bikers left their various mundane tasks to watch their jefe at work.

Chopsaw soon realized that he had put too much on the line rising to Johnson's challenge. Johnson was good and his ride was red-hot. A lot of skill had gone into modding that engine and it purred like a tiger.

Johnson grinned as he pulled up to a stop at the end of the third circuit.

"Let's make this interesting," he shouted. "Winner takes BOTH machines."

"Crazy shit," Chopsaw retorted, through gritted teeth. "That heap of yours is a crock, man."

"Yeah, but she's shit fast, right?" Johnson responded. "Faster then fire. I can stomp anything the cops have. And she's half the weight of your baby."

Chopsaw considered. A real fast, light machine like that could be handy in his line of nefarious business. And if the guy won, well, let's just say he wouldn't be walking away with the prize.

"OK," he laughed. "Let's do it. Gonna see what you got."

The gang guffawed as one man, and Dean's eyes popped. That stupid guy Johnson was going to get himself killed, right there, right then. Either that or Chopsaw was going to maim him. Dean really didn't want to see it.

The race restarted. And it was close. Chopsaw's machine was powerful, no doubting it, but Johnson's was nimble and seemed to have inexhaustible resources. Chopsaw made a mental note to find out who Johnson had gotten to fix up that machine, before he killed him.

Then just as they rounded the final bend, Chopsaw in front by a whisker, a jack rabbit suddenly darted out of the undergrowth and scurried right in front of the speeding machines. Johnson, on the more controllable ride, managed to swerve around it. Chopsaw ploughed right in, sliding on the entrails, allowing his opponent to pass and pip him at the flag.

Chopsaw cursed as he dragged his bunny-splattered machine upright. Johnson decelerated and turned back to stop right by the angry biker.

"Reckon that was a win," Johnson pointed out, perilously.

Chopsaw grimaced. "Not fair, not goddamn square," he remarked grimly.

"Never said nuthin' about 'fair and square'," Johnson replied, getting off of his machine.

Chopsaw nodded to his men over his shoulder. Bolo and a group of four roughnecks strode threateningly forward.

"Maybe you oughta take that up with my homies," the boss spat.

The five guys set on Johnson. Not exactly 'fair and square' odds either. Dean tore himself away and hid inside the squat. He wasn't going to watch the guy die. He had seen enough of that already.

But Chopsaw hadn't reckoned on Johnson's unique training in unarmed combat. None of Chopsaw's guys had been trained since birth to handle themselves in an unfair fight of this kind of proportion.

Johnson was a tall guy and he used his height to his advantage, as he had been taught. He used his long reach and his speed, the way his father had drummed into him. He had gone up against a hell of a lot worse than five human aggressors before, and survived. This was a walk in the park.

Knocking the heads of the last two guys together, Johnson let their inert bodies drop to the ground, and grabbed a Bowie knife from Bolo's limp hand. In a flash he had it pressed up against the flesh of Chopsaw's quivering throat.

"Seems like they agree with me," Johnson growled through a nasty grin.

"OK, OK," Chopsaw stammered. "Take the goddamn bike."

Johnson chuckled. "Never realized you were so attached to that sweet Hog," he whispered, hoarse in Chopsaw's ear. "Maybe I'm gonna let you keep it."

Chopsaw shivered. "Wha-what?" he gasped.

"Maybe I'll just take something else of yours instead," Johnson hissed menacingly. "Like your... life."

Chopsaw shuddered.

"Or maybe I'll just take..." Johnson paused like he was considering his options. "Maybe I'll just take your bitch."

Chopsaw let out a rasping breath. Just that? Just the kid? That worthless kid? He could hardly believe how dumb this guy was.

He grinned. "Sure, take him. What do I care? He's yours. Whatever."

Johnson let go of Chopsaw's neck, and the biker slumped to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

"OK," Johnson said, sliding the Bowie into his belt. "Call him."

"Dean," Chopsaw croaked, then he stopped, rubbed at his throat and tried again louder. "DEAN!"

Dean was found pretty soon, and pushed to the front of the crowd, his face impassive. Some guy grabbed him by the shoulders, and threw him at Johnson.

Johnson climbed back into the saddle of his ride, and held out an arm toward Dean, his eyes still trained on Chopsaw. Dean gave the boss a wide berth as he slowly walked over, betraying nothing but reluctance. He climbed on the bitch seat of Johnson's machine.

Johnson grinned as he revved up the engine, Dean's arms wrapped around his waist for safety.

"See ya," he called over his shoulder, as he accelerated away.

TBC

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A/N: Yeah, well, it's pretty obvious who this mysterious stranger really is. But how would Dean know? More soon.


	3. Chapter 3

Summary: Dean was kidnapped by bikers at age thirteen, and had been traded as a slave for many years. An adult Sam has finally tracked him down. AU Sam/Dean wincest Warning: mention of past non-con.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews and alerts so far. Now a change of pace...

* * *

Riding Bitch (Part 3) by frostygossamer

* * *

A mile down the road, Johnson turned his machine onto a dirt track crowded with parked vehicles and guys with 'FBI' on the back of their jackets. Several fingered their weapons as he came in sight, but no one drew on him. He was expected.

He swerved to a dusty halt in front of the Feds.

"Where's Henricksen?" Johnson demanded.

There was a rustle and murmur amongst the crowd of men, then a tall black guy slid out of the driver's seat of the leftmost car. He strolled around to the front of the vehicle and leaned nonchalantly on the hood.

"Winchester," he drawled.

Dean shrank down and ducked behind Johnson. The FBI knew his name?

Johnson laughed. "Henricksen, you bastard," he exclaimed.

"You got him out?" Henricksen asked, businesslike.

Johnson nodded. "Got him right here."

And he patted the hand Dean still had clutched around a fistful of his shirt.

Henricksen waved an arm dismissively. "Alright, then get outta here before I book your asses with the rest of those scumbags."

Johnson turned his bike and revved her up, as the FBI team started their engines ready to move on out. As Johnson swung back onto the highway, Dean watched, over his shoulder, the Fed convoy bearing down on Chopsaw's squat.

It was a raid and, whew, Dean was well out of there.

~oOo~

An hour or so farther down the highway, Johnson pulled into a roadside diner, indicating, as he parked his machine, that Dean should get down and go inside. When he got inside, Johnson found Dean hovering uncertainly in the doorway. He guided him to a booth and sat them both down, then he picked up the menu and scanned it.

"Gonna buy you pie, Dean," he said with a chuckle.

Dean looked unsure, biting at his lip.

"Dude, you remember pie?" Johnson asked slightly shocked.

"Sure I do," Dean scoffed. "Pie is good."

Johnson shook his head and signalled to a bored-looking waitress. She wandered over, notebook at the ready.

"What pie do you have?" he asked.

"Apple, blueberry, cherry, lemon cream, peach, strawberry," she reeled off.

"We'll have a slice of each," Johnson said.

She toddled away and Johnson grinned. He just grinned at Dean's face for the longest time, until Dean started to feel nervous.

"What?" Dean asked.

Johnson blinked. "Knew you straight away," he said. "You haven't changed so much. Scared you would've changed, that I wouldn't know you."

His voice was starting to crack, emotion bubbling up despite himself.

"You remember me?" he asked softly.

Dean examined his face closely. "No," was his honest reply.

Johnson frowned. "I'm Sam," he said, and paused for a reaction that didn't come. "Your brother?"

Dean recoiled suspiciously.

"Sammy was a kid," he said uncertainly. "A LITTLE kid."

"I was," Sam agreed. "Only nine years old last time I saw you. Grew up. Got big. Just like you did. And some."

Dean huffed. He knew that. Of course he did. He wasn't some idiot.

"Y-you're freakin' tall," he objected. "And you're a biker."

"No, Dean. That was all fake," Sam explained. "Just working for the FBI undercover, as an informant. Feds gave me the cover story about McMurdo." He chuckled. "I'm legit. Barely gotten out of college. Got my degree, pre-law. Hoping to go on to Law School when I get enough money together."

"You're the law?" Dean asked worriedly.

"Kinda," Sam conceded. "After I traced you to Chopsaw's crew, I infiltrated the gang so I could check you were, well, really you. And then I offered to be an informer for the Feds. Got them the skinny to take Chopsaw down, in exchange for keeping you out of the frame. Agent Henricksen let me go in and grab you up before the swoop. That was the deal."

Dean stared at him for a moment, taking all that in, then he asked, "Why?"

Sam gasped. Why? What sort of question was that? He was shocked that his brother even would ask such a question.

"Because you're family, Dean," he growled. "Because I found out Dad never ever stopped looking for you. Because when he died he left me all his research and I carried on looking. Because I couldn't have lived with myself if I never found you, living or dead. Because you're all I have left."

Dean drew in a sharp breath. "Dad's... dead?"

Sam smiled sadly. "Yes, Dean, I'm sorry. Last year. Old yellow-eyes."

Dean's face crumpled. "Dad..." he said simply.

"Yeah..." Sam responded.

They were silent until the waitress returned with the pieces of pie. Sam slapped on a cheerful smile.

"Great," he said. "Pie."

~oOo~

They sat and shared the pie and drank their complimentary coffee without speaking further. Then Sam took out his wallet and pulled out a few bills.

"We should get going," he said.

Dean glanced around, shuffling awkwardly in his seat. Sam noticed.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

Dean looked apologetic. "Need the john," he whispered.

Sam spotted the 'RESTROOM' sign on the wall. He nodded toward it.

Dean hesitated. "Please?" he asked.

Sam stared at him. "Dean, you're not in kindergarten anymore. You don't need to ask permission to go to the can."

"I, uh, always gotta," Dean whispered awkwardly.

Sam shook his head incredulously and sighed.

"Go knock yourself out, Dean," he said. "Take all the time you need. I'll be outside. And, in future, you wanna go you just go. You don't need to ask anyone. OK?"

Dean nodded quickly and disappeared into the restroom. Sam sighed again. This was going to be harder than he had thought.

~oOo~

They arrived at Sam's place just after midnight. Sam could feel that Dean had fallen asleep clinging behind him. He woke up with a start when Sam's bike came to a halt.

Sam let them both into his home and put on the light. He was tired from the long ride, and it was obvious that Dean was worn out too. So Sam decided to keep all further chat until morning. He showed Dean where the bathroom was and opened the door to the spare bedroom, but didn't switch on the light.

"You can sleep in here," he said.

"Sure," Dean agreed, sounding a little uncertain.

He walked in and sat down on the bed.

"Be right next door," Sam told him. "OK?"

Dean nodded nervously, wanting to seem obedient.

Sam closed the door, and went to his own room to get ready for bed. He could do with some serious shut-eye. It had been a long, trying day.

Dean sat on the bed for a while, unsure what to do next. The day's events had been kind of life-changing. Last night he had been entertaining the ridiculously impossible dream that maybe he could convince that nice guy Johnson to buy him from Chopsaw. That way he could maybe get beat less often, and be with a guy who actually talked to him like a person, and didn't get all his jollies from hurting.

Today that nice guy had actually won him, wanted HIM, when he could have had that fine Hog of Chopsaw's. Great, but then it turned out he wasn't even a biker. Not a Fed, thank God, but not much better. And he claimed to be his brother, but that seemed totally messed up. Last time Dean had seen his little brother he was just that, little. This guy was some kind of giant.

And the question remained, what was he expected to do?

Dean wasn't an idiot, far from it. He wasn't a kid anymore, he was 26 years old. But he had learned, pretty soon after he was taken by those bikers, that showing open defiance and spirit simply got you hurt. Eventually it would get you dead.

Those people were psychopathic killers. Anytime he could have wound up in a lonely grave in the woods or worse. Dean had had to adapt to the situation he found himself trapped in, and he had soon realized that the safest thing was to act simple. Over the years it had become an instinct, second nature.

He was thoroughly confused, but he knew he had to learn to adapt again, as soon as he had figured out what was going on.

He lay down on the bed, still fully clothed, and fell into an uneasy sleep.

~oOo~

Late next morning, Dean was startled awake by the sound of paper rustling noisily, as Sam opened the room door, disturbing the notes pinned up everywhere with a rush of air.

"You awake, Dean?" he asked yawning.

Dean quickly answered, "Yep," forcing himself to look alert.

"OK," Sam went on. "When you've had your shower you can borrow some clean clothes from my room. I'll be in the kitchen. Whaddya like for breakfast, dude?"

"Whatever," was Dean's uncertain reply. "Uh, whatever you want is fine."

"No preferences?"

"Just leave me a little of what you have," Dean suggested apologetically.

Sam was about to reprove his brother for that, but was interrupted by a sudden spark of memory. He smiled.

"Dude, you used to love pancakes. That suit you?"

"Sure," Dean agreed, sitting up. "Pancakes would be awesome."

As soon as Sam disappeared, Dean got up and looked around. In the light of day, he noticed, for the first time, the photographs and paperwork stuck up all over the walls of the room. He took a peek at them.

The photos were mostly fuzzy shots of guys dressed like bikers. Some of them Dean actually recognized. A few photos might even have been of him. There were also a couple snaps of Cassie, and one which seemed to be a crime scene photograph of her shallow grave. Dean had to pause there a moment.

Feeling a little puzzled, Dean made his way to the bathroom, as ordered, and stripped off to have himself a shower. Sam had a great steam shower and there was plenty hot water, but Dean tried not to linger, because lingering could get you in trouble. He quickly dried off and put his own clothes back on, because he knew it was dangerous to be naked for too long, then hurried down to the kitchen.

Sam had a stack of strawberry pancakes ready by the time Dean joined him. Dean waited until Sam had helped himself and carefully watched how much sticky, red syrup he doused them with before helping himself to half as much.

"Take some more, Dean," Sam told him, gesturing with his fork as he ate. "Made these for you, man."

Dean grinned and added a few more to his plate, face lighting up as the first forkful hit his taste-buds.

"I remember..." he began, cutting himself off quickly, like he'd said too much.

"You remember, Dean?" Sam asked, grinning. "You remember when you used to make these for me, huh?"

Dean smiled back sadly. "Yeah. Used to make pancakes, sure. Forgotten how though. Been too long."

Sam chuckled. "Don't worry, dude," he said. "I'll show you how. Show you everything you're gonna need to know."

Dean nodded. Dean was good at doing what he was told.

~oOo~

In the living room Dean found some photos on the fireplace, in frames this time. They showed Sam looking happy with a pretty blond girl in his arms.

Sam noticed him looking at them.

"My girlfriend, Jessica," he explained.

Girlfriend? Sam had a bitch already? Dean felt a little confused.

"But... she's not around anymore," Sam continued. "We had an argument and she went on back to her mom's, couple months ago."

Dean didn't like the sound of that. Girlfriend disappeared? Sounded familiar.

"Why?" he asked, and immediately regretted it. Dangerous to pry.

Sam flopped on the couch and grinned guiltily.

"It was on account of you, really," he said. "Ever since I took up where Dad left off searching for you, she said I'd gotten obsessed. She said I was eating, sleeping and dreaming getting you home. It was unhealthy. Thing is, she was entirely wrong. Had it ass backwards. I'd put my memories of you in a locked box in my head. Seeing Dad's research brought it all back with a bang. Realized I needed closure."

Dean frowned. "She coming back now?" he asked.

Sam shook his head. "Not any time soon. We had one helluva bust-up. She threw my ring in my face. I reckoned..." he chuckled. "Still reckon her values were all wrong."

Dean was secretly pleased by that news. Seemed he wouldn't need to compete with another bitch for Sam's goodwill after all.

~oOo~

They spent the morning tearing down all the research plastered around the spare room.

"This stuff can all go now," Sam insisted. "The past is over with, dude. Got you back. You're home."

Dean was standing by the wastebasket examining a couple snaps that looked like they were of him. He found it kind of freaky that someone had been spying on him without him noticing.

"Never thought anyone was still looking for me," he said. "Back when they snatched me up I knew Dad would come get me. Just had to hold out a couple days. But he never came. Then I knew no one would come. After that I just did what I had to do to stay alive."

Sam took the photos from Dean's hands.

"Dad tried," he explained. "But there was only so much he could do outside the law. I had to get the Feds in on the deal before I stood a chance of getting to you safely. Wasn't his fault."

He threw the snaps in the trash with the rest of the stuff.

"We're gonna burn all this crap, Dean," he said. "Then you can forget all the shit and start over."

He put his arms around his big brother and hugged him tight.

Unsure at first, Dean slowly relaxed into the hug. It would be OK, Dean told himself. It was confusing, but Sam was a nice guy and Sam owned him, so he didn't have to worry.

Everything was going to be OK.

TBC

* * *

A/N: Dean's home so he can forget it all and get back to normal, or can he? More soon.


	4. Chapter 4

Summary: Dean was kidnapped by bikers at age thirteen, and had been traded as a slave for many years. An adult Sam has finally tracked him down. AU Sam/Dean wincest Warning: mention of past non-con.

* * *

Thanks, all you like-minded people, for taking the time to review.

* * *

Riding Bitch (Part 4) by frostygossamer

* * *

The only things Dean possessed were the clothes he stood up in and a comb. His change of clothes were back at the biker's squat. He didn't even own a razor. He used to borrow Chopsaw's shaver. The biker hadn't trusted him with a sharp-edge.

The outfit Dean was wearing, torn jeans and a faded, cropped T, wasn't exactly what Sam considered suitable. So he decided he would take his brother to a clothing store and get him sorted out.

"What sizes we looking for," Sam muttered as he rifled through the garment rails in the store.

He glanced at Dean who was hanging back awkwardly.

"Dunno," Dean muttered.

Sam sighed. "OK," he said. "Stupid question, right? Think I can guess what'll fit."

He grabbed a few random pairs of jeans.

"Any colour preference?" he asked, glancing up. "Nah."

He walked over to the racks of shirts, and grabbed a bunch of assorted Ts and the same number of plain overshirts in dark shades.

"These'll do," he said, dumping them on the clerk's counter.

"Guess we'd better grab you some socks and underwear too. What do you wear? Boxers? Briefs?"

He looked at Dean who shook his head vaguely. Since when had he been given underwear?

"OK, well you can start right now," and Sam grabbed several matching boxer and sock sets off of the shelf, adding them to his pile.

"Next time I expect you'll wanna pick your own stuff, huh?" he chuckled.

The clerk grinned at him and packed the items into bags, as she totted up what Sam owed. Sam paid up and handed the bags to Dean.

"Seeing as I paid, least you can do is carry 'em," Sam told him.

Dean took the bags dutifully. Sam looked at his brother's feet. Dean was wearing a pair of very old and battered sneakers.

"OK, next we gotta get you some decent boots. Those things are gonna drop off of your feet anytime now."

~oOo~

Sam guided Dean into a nearby shoe store and sat him down. When a clerk came over, he asked her to measure Dean's feet, because he was pretty sure what his brother was wearing didn't fit him properly. The clerk took off Dean's sneakers and began measuring his sockless feet.

Sam watched her at work. He remembered how, when Dean was a kid, he had loved it when a pretty girl fussed over him like that. Now he seemed nervous even of her. The girl was cute and flirty, but Dean kept glancing up at Sam, like he didn't know what he was allowed to say.

They walked out the store with two good pairs of long-wearing boots, and for once Dean was actually looking pleased about something.

Dean couldn't remember the last time he had had first-hand shoes. And they were so expensive it had to mean Sam really liked him.

~oOo~

Before they stopped for lunch, Sam took Dean into a drugstore to get him some personal supplies, like his own shaver, toothbrush and toiletries. Dean wandered around sniffing things, and Sam quickly grabbed whatever he seemed to like, before Dean had a chance to hide them in his pockets.

When he was finished, Sam gave him his wallet and pushed him toward the checkout. Dean looked panic stricken, holding Sam's wallet gingerly, like he had been handed a live grenade.

"Dude, just take your stuff up to the checkout and give the guy your cash," Sam urged.

Dean swallowed nervously. "I, um. Not supposed to touch money," he whispered.

"Why not?" Sam demanded. "You the freakin' Queen of England or somethin'?"

He grabbed back the wallet and pushed a couple large bills right into Dean's hand.

"Take this and pay the man. OK?" he said.

Dean did as he was told, returning a few minutes later with his purchases in a bag, and the correct change. Sam held up a hand.

"Keep it, man," he said. "A guy should have some walking around money."

Dean looked unconvinced, but he stuffed the money in his pocket and hazarded a smile. Sam smacked his hands together.

"Alright! Now we're ready to go get lunch."

~oOo~

They went into a cafe and sat down at a corner table. Dean eyed the room suspiciously. Sam picked up the menu and studied it. He himself was partial to a healthy salad, but he didn't think that was appropriate today. If he wanted Dean to eat, he was going to have to take the lead.

"Gonna have a burger. You like burgers, Dean?" he asked, then answered himself. "Sure you do. Hell, you used to love burgers. Remember?"

Dean nodded enthusiastically. "Burgers? Yeah. Love 'em."

Sam chuckled and waved the waiter over.

"We'll have two bacon cheeseburgers with extra bacon, curly fries, onion rings and two large Cokes," he said, smacking his lips.

Dean's eyes lit up when he saw the mountain of food that arrived.

"Dig in," Sam encouraged.

Sam watched his brother as he ate. Clearly he wasn't used to eating so well. For a guy of twenty-six he was underweight and drawn. Hell, that was no surprise, considering the way he had been treated.

Sam made a mental note to take Dean down to his doctor and get him checked over, as soon as possible. He still remembered what a tough, fit kid Dean used to be. He was going to make damn sure and get him fit again.

~oOo~

They returned to Sam's place in a happy mood. Sam took Dean's shopping into the spare room to put it away.

"OK. Now this room is officially 'Dean's Room'. Right?" he pronounced. "You can keep all your stuff in here. There's plenty space."

He opened a drawer and piled in the T-shirts, underwear and socks. He put the jeans in another drawer, and then opened the wardrobe to hang the shirts. There was nothing in the wardrobe, apart from his dad's leather jacket on a solitary hanger, and John's boxes of memories. Dean fingered the old jacket furtively.

"Remember that?" Sam asked gently.

Dean nodded. "It was Dad's," he said.

He still carried a vivid picture of his dad in his mind, as he had last seen him, even after all these years.

"Uh-huh," Sam agreed. "Hey, why don't you try it on?"

Dean looked surprised, but he let Sam take the jacket off of its hanger and put it on him. It was a little big for him right then, but it looked good.

"Looks real good on you," Sam told him. "You should wear it. Dad would have wanted you to have it."

"Th-thanks," Dean stuttered, pulling the jacket tighter around him like he was cold.

Sam smiled and reached out to squeeze his shoulder.

"You know Dad always believed he'd find you some day. He'd be psyched to know you're safe."

Dean returned his smile sadly. If only he had known. If only he had been able to believe that someone was still looking for him when things were darkest, it would have made it easier for him. Because for so long he had felt alone and powerless and lost.

He kind of still did.

~oOo~

Sam lay in bed that night and thought back to when he was a kid. He thought about John and the life he had known when the three of them were together. It seemed so long ago.

They used to live out of John's car in those days, constantly moving from place to place. John was a driven man, always hunting, always on the trail of vengeance. He would disappear for days leaving Sam alone with just his big brother, only a kid himself.

His big brother Dean had always been there for him though. Dean had taken good care of him. Dean had been like a mom and dad rolled together, but so much more fun. Dean made him pancakes, taught him his first ABCs, tended his scraped knees and cuddled him in bed when thunderstorms kept him awake.

Then one day Dean was gone. He had popped out to get milk for Sam's cereal and he never came back. Leaving his kid brother waiting forever for the sound of the front door opening followed by the usual call, "Hey, Sammy, I'm home."

John had left Sam where he could have a regular life. And he had had a good and regular life, he couldn't fault him for that. But John had drifted away and Sam's old life had become like a half-forgotten dream. Even Dean had been half-forgotten.

But the weird thing was that, with Dean back in his life, the memories were all flooding back like he had just woken up from some sort of strange amnesia. All the doors to locked rooms in his head were bursting open.

He felt like he was nine again.

~oOo~

A loud roll of summer thunder woke Sam at about 2am in the morning. He stretched lazily and turned over to find he wasn't alone between his sheets. Dean was laying curled up on the very edge of his bed, trembling slightly.

Sam's first thought was "What the...?" But then he remembered the way he used to cuddle up to his big brother whenever a storm frightened him, way back when he was small. He reckoned turnabout was fair play.

"It's OK, Dean," he whispered. "Only thunder. Won't hurt you, dude."

Dean shivered and shook his head a little. "Don't like lightning," he whispered.

Sam chuckled. "Fine, dude. Just go to sleep," he said.

Then he turned over and when back to sleep himself.

~oOo~

The next morning, Sam woke up with a warm lump in the blankets clasped to his hip. Dean had gotten himself all bundled up in the bedclothes, and was pressed up real close to his brother. Sam unpeeled the covers from off of Dean's head.

"You got your own bed," he remarked.

Dean gave him a sheepish look. "Not used to sleeping alone. Never had my own bed before," he said.

"Jeez," Sam thought. "Guess that's true. We kids always had to share back in the day. And, I guess, a biker doesn't BUY a guy to have him sleep by himself."

Sam sighed sadly and flashed Dean a reassuring smile.

"It's fine," he assured him, generously. "You can share with me for a while. Till you're feeling better. OK?"

Dean nodded and snuggled back into his cocoon. Sam chuckled and got out of bed to go make breakfast.

~oOo~

As Sam stood in the kitchen cracking eggs into a bowl, his thoughts went back to the memories he had of his brother before he went missing. He remembered Dean being a cocky son-of-a-bitch with a silver tongue and an eye for the ladies. He remembered being so proud of having a big brother who could lick anyone who gave him grief. He remembered the brotherly hugs and the sibling rivalries. Most of all, he remembered Dean's cheeky smile.

Sam recalled how, when Dean had disappeared, he had clung for a long time to the faith that Dean would find his way home sometime or his dad would find him. His dad was a hunter, right? He could find anyone, anything. Eventually he had realized that Dean wasn't coming back, and neither was John. So he had applied himself to just being a 'normal' kid.

Fostering had worked out great for Sam. He had been given a stable home along with other foster kids, nothing like he had had before. His foster parents had sent him to school, every day. They had encouraged him to try for college, and had been proud of him when he got his scholarship to Stanford. They had even been there to see him graduate. Sam had hoped John would turn up, but no dice.

All that time Sam had tried not to think about Dean. Memories hurt. Knowing that Dean had gone out to buy milk for him that day just made it worse. He had never really forgiven himself for that, even though he knew it wasn't really his fault. He had carried that kernel of guilt around with him for years, and that was the real reason he had thrown himself so obsessively into completing John's search for his brother. Jessica had never really understood that.

Sam had needed very much to find that big brother he lost. But something had gone wrong and the guy he had finally found was very far from being the brother he remembered. He could only hope that the brother he needed was inside Dean somewhere, still waiting to be saved.

Sam was roused from his thoughts when he heard someone shuffling behind him. He turned around. Dean was standing there dressed in his new clothes, black jeans and a black T-shirt with a dark gray overshirt on top. He looked a little uncomfortable.

"Boots pinch," he commented uncertainly.

"Got some dubbin'll sort that out," Sam responded with a grin. "You look great."

Dean smiled awkwardly. "Feel kinda overdressed," he said and took a step forward, tripping over his untied laces.

Sam caught him before he landed on the hot stove.

"Now don't tell me you dunno how to tie shoelaces," he chuckled.

"Course I know," Dean grumbled, crouching down to do them up. "Taught you, didn't I?"

"Huh? Damn sure you did," Sam agreed, delighted that his brother remembered.

Dean straightened up and grinned at Sam.

"Ain't been brain-wiped," he said. "Not a complete dumb-ass."

Now face to face, Sam checked him over speculatively.

"You wearing lipstick?" he demanded in amazement.

"Nope," Dean replied, too quick.

"Did we even buy lipstick?" Sam asked unbelieving, wondering if Jess had left make-up behind someplace.

"Lip balm," Dean insisted. "Dry lips," he added hastily.

"Tinted?" Sam inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Uh yeah. And cherry-flavoured."

"Ah."

That explained it. Dean always was a sucker for sweet. Some of the random stuff they had picked up in the drugstore had been candy-flavoured.

"Want me to go wash it off?" Dean asked, less than eagerly.

"Hell no," Sam chuckled, shaking his head. "It's your mouth, man."

Yeah, life had certainly changed his brother.

TBC

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A/N: Yes, this Dean has definitely changed. More soon.


	5. Chapter 5

Summary: Dean was kidnapped by bikers at age thirteen, and had been traded as a slave for many years. An adult Sam has finally tracked him down. AU Sam/Dean wincest Warning: mention of past non-con.

* * *

Riding Bitch (Part 5) by frostygossamer

* * *

After breakfast, Sam decided that maybe he should take Dean to visit with Bobby. When Sam had finally got a good lead on Dean, and had needed to set up cover to infiltrate the biker gang, it was Bobby who had helped him to juice up the machine that he would use.

Sam couldn't afford a really top-of-the-range bike, but ever resourceful Bobby had used his contacts to locate a plausible, if beat-up, classic ride. Then he had used his awesome mechanic skills to pimp it up to a standard that would convince the bikers that Sam was a bona fide gearhead.

He and Sam had spent many hours in Bobby's yard, working on this stealth plane of a bike and talking about Sam's plan. The thing that had worried Bobby most had been involving the Feds. But, unlike Bobby, Sam didn't have to worry about the FBI. Sam had a clean record.

Bobby would be anxious to know how Sam's escapade had gone down, so Sam gave him a call. When he had finished his call, he went looking for Dean, who was sitting quietly on the living room couch awaiting orders.

"Dean, you remember Dad's buddy, Bobby Singer?" Sam began.

Dean glanced up and shook his head.

"The guy with the salvage yard?" Sam prompted. "Used to call us 'idjits' all the time?"

A faint light came on in Dean's eyes. "Maybe," he allowed guardedly.

"Really think we can't put this off any longer, Dean," Sam remarked. "Been talking to old Bobby on the phone, and he's real keen to see you. Oughta take you on over."

Dean's face fell. "Don't..." he began, then he went on in a very tiny voice. "Don't wanna go to Bobby. Wanna stay here."

Sam grinned. "Dean, don't sweat it. Bobby's a real nice guy. You'll like him. He always liked you."

Dean flinched. "Don't want Bobby to like me," he whispered, looking down. "Like you. Wanna stay with you, Sam."

Sam's eyes widened, as he suddenly caught Dean's drift.

"Man, not gonna take you to Bobby's and leave you there. Don't wanna GIVE you to Bobby. We're just gonna visit with him."

Dean continued to look down.

"Don't you wanna keep me for yourself?" he asked. "You'll be glad. I'll be good."

"Oh hey, bro," Sam exclaimed, sitting down on the couch beside his elder brother. "It's not like that. Not gonna... Hell, Dean, not gonna give you away or lend you out or any crap like that. Bobby was a good pal of Dad's. He's like family. He'll be like your family too, our family."

He tilted Dean's face up and smiled down at him. "You remember Dad, huh? Remember how Dad was with us? Bobby's like that. He's not gonna touch you, no way, I promise."

Dean didn't look completely convinced, but he nodded.

"OK," he responded obediently.

~oOo~

It took them two days to drive to Bobby's. On the night between they stayed in a motel. Dean insisted on sneaking into Sam's bed, even in a twin-bed room, because he was frankly scared of waking up in a strange place and finding Sam gone. Sam was learning to put up with that.

When they arrived early at Bobby's yard the old man was standing at the entrance with a big smile already on his face.

"Sam," he said. "Good to see ya. Where's your brother at, boy?"

Dean was taking his own time getting out of Sam's car, nervous of meeting this old guy he hardly remembered. When Bobby got a look at him he was thunderstruck.

"Dean, son, come here and let me get a good look at ya," he said.

Bobby had vivid memories of the thirteen-year-old Dean, and it really moved him to set eyes on the boy he thought he would never see again.

"Holy heck, boy, woulda known ya anyplace," Bobby stammered, welling up. "You ain't changed one scrap. Got bigger, filled out some, but just as purty as I remember ya."

Dean rooted himself to the spot, Bobby's jokey comment unnerving him slightly. Seeing his hesitation, Sam jumped straight in.

"Dean's still a mite skittery, Bobby," he explained. "He's had a real tough time with those goddamn bikers. Gonna take him a while to settle down to regular life. And to recognize a joke when he hears one."

Bobby chuckled. "Guess I can't expect him to recollect me and my witty repartee," he joshed, wiping his eyes. "Been a damn long time. Come on inside, boys."

Sam put his arm around Dean, and encouraged him to follow Bobby indoors.

~oOo~

Bobby had made them lunch. After they had sat down and begun stuffing their faces, Sam brought Bobby up to speed with what had gone down between him, Chopsaw's gang and the FBI.

When they had finished eating they left Dean doing the dishes, something he was eager to volunteer for, and went outside to talk in private. Sam clued Bobby in to the sort of life Dean had been forced to lead with the biker gang.

"Guess they swipe kids like Dean off of the street to work 'em like slaves, huh?" Bobby suggested.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "Only wish that was all there was to it."

He sat down at the yard bench and went on.

"Dean's been sold and swapped like a dog," he explained. "Treated as a punching bag and a whore. His body's covered in scars, and the scars on his psyche must be ten times as bad. Something like that you don't get over soon, maybe never."

"Oh Jeez, that poor guy," Bobby sympathized.

Sam nodded. "What I'm trying to do is get him back on his feet. Show him how to get along by himself again. He's gotten so freakin' dependent it's disturbing."

"Hell, that's a goddamn shame," Bobby muttered, shaking his head.

"So, Bobby," Sam continued. "Watch your goddamn Ps and Qs around him. He's kinda spooky and ready to bolt anytime. And he's particularly nervous about guys getting too close. So keep your distance, and no ambiguous comments. OK?"

Bobby's eyebrows went up. "The hell!" he gasped, shocked.

"Yep," Sam confirmed. "Dean's got serious trust issues, even with me."

Bobby was horrified. He hadn't realized the full truth of what Dean had been through, and he was saddened to think that even HIS motives could give the guy any doubt whatsoever.

"Don't worry, son," Bobby assured him. "Be on tippytoe 'round the kid real nice."

Sam clapped him on the back and they went inside.

~oOo~

They found Dean nodding on Bobby's couch, but he jumped right up guiltily when he heard them enter the room.

"Listen, Dean," Bobby said cheerily. "I'ma gonna make a run to the store, pick up some extra food, seeing as you guys are gonna be stayin' a while. Wanna come along?"

Dean looked a little doubtful. "Um..."

Sam grinned. "Go along, Dean," he encouraged. "Bobby could use another pair of hands loading up his truck. You'll do fine."

Dean didn't want to look like he was disobeying a direct order, so he reluctantly complied. Sam was kind of counting on that. After spending so much time in the car with Dean, he was anxious for a little 'him' time. And he thought it would do Dean good to get out for a while.

Picking up his wallet and keys, Bobby went out and climbed into his truck. Dean shot Sam a quick worried look as he got in beside him. Bobby started the truck and pulled straight out, heading for his favourite store.

A few minutes into the drive, sensing Dean's restiveness in the passenger seat beside him, Bobby remarked,

"Just so you know, son. You're lookin' at a lifelong heterosexual. Been married, happily while it lasted. Nuthin' that wasn't wearin' skirts has ever taken my interest. Also, I'm a man of peace, ceptin' for supernatural varmints that is. And I've never raised a hand in anger against any guy, lessun he meant me or mine some harm. You got nuthin' to fear from me, boy."

Dean shrugged. "Nothing personal, Bobby," he said. "Just you live with crazies you learn to be real careful, is all."

Bobby chuckled grimly. "You're well outta that world, son," he assured him.

~oOo~

When they arrived at Bobby's favourite local store, they got down from the truck and wandered inside. Bobby went straight to the butcher and ordered some decent steaks, while he sent Dean to pick up some produce to go with them, sweet potaters and corn-on-the-cob. Then they went around the store and collected the other goods Bobby needed.

"Just grab anything that takes your fancy, Dean," Bobby reminded him. "Reckon you could do with a layer of fat on that skinny body of yours."

Dean glanced at his reflection in the windowpane. His problem had never been not looking attractive enough.

"Never had any complaints 'bout the way I look," Dean commented.

Bobby just raised an eyebrow.

"Hmm. OK, let's pick up some pie in Baked Goods, then we'll take a look-see at their candy."

Dean's eyes lit up with childish glee, when he got into the candy shelves. He hadn't had candy he wouldn't have to 'pay' for in a long time.

"Always did have a sweet tooth, huh boy?" Bobby chuckled, as Dean loaded his cart with an armful of tooth-rotting junk snacks.

When they had gotten around to the checkout, Bobby suddenly facepalmed.

"Heck, here's me furgittin' the most important thing," he exclaimed, rocketing over to the alcohol section and whopping cases of beer into his cart, while Dean looked on thoughtfully.

Outside in the parking lot, the two of them loaded up Bobby's truck with their purchases, then they headed on out. As they drove homeward, Dean pondered the beer in the back. If the guys were thinking of getting loaded tonight, he did NOT want to be around.

Drunk guys were unpredictable guys he had good reason to know, and the scars to prove.

~oOo~

When they got back to the salvage yard, Sam had the hood up on his car and was tinkering inside. Bobby got down from the truck, and wandered over to see what Sam was doing.

"Just thought I'd take a look at the carburettor problem. Thinking it's gonna need work," Sam explained.

Bobby tutted. "I'll take a look at it tomorrow," he said. "Dean can help me."

Sam smirked. "Remember how Dean loved to mess around with Dad's Impala? He had a thing about engines."

As a kid Dean had been a real motorhead. Sam recalled how John had missed that when Dean was gone. He had had to go back to doing his own maintenance.

Sam turned to his brother. "Remember, Dean?" he asked. "Ever do any work on those Harleys?"

Dean shook his head. "Not allowed to touch the bikes," he said. "Hell no, that'd earn you a beating, damn sure."

Sam winced but Bobby gave Dean a grin. "You wanna learn, I'll teach ya, son. Used to be a natural round anything mechanical. Bet ya it's still in that noggin of yours someplace, huh?"

Dean smiled uncertainly. "Sure," he agreed. "Whatever you say, Bobby."

~oOo~

As Bobby made dinner, Sam stood and talked to him in the kitchen, just out of Dean's hearing, or so he assumed.

"Makes me mad as all heck," Bobby growled. "I remember him, Sam, when he was a teenager. Jeez, the sassy mouth he had on him. And that way he had with the girls, even so young. He was... Well, John was so proud. His little soldier, he called him. And now..."

"He's still Dean," Sam replied quickly. "He's still my big brother, Bobby. To think I honestly believed he was gone for good, and now he's sitting right there. And you don't know what he's been through. Not the half of it."

"It's turned him into some kinda big girl," Bobby commented. "Slouchin' there all hang-dog and shy as a mouse. The old Dean's long gone."

"You're wrong there, Bobby," Sam objected. "Dean's suffered but he's tough. He's had to learn to behave that way to survive. He survived and now he can unlearn all that shit. He can be the old Dean again."

"OK, Sam. But don't fool yourself," Bobby warned. "He's never gonna be totally right again. Trauma like that ain't nobody getting over altogether."

Sam nodded. "Well, Bobby, anyways he's still my brother and I'm gonna take care of him. It's what Dad would have wanted. Dad never gave up on him, and I'm sure as hell not giving up on him either."

Bobby mused on that for a moment.

"Somethin' else your dad never gave up on..." he began.

"Talking about the YED, huh?" Sam asked.

"Yep. Ya gotta know that dang demon's still around someplace? John didn't finish him."

Sam shrugged. "Not a hunter, Bobby. Revenge was Dad's obsession, not mine."

"May still have business with the Winchesters," Bobby warned.

Sam sighed. "Fuglies pretty much left me alone, Bobby. Not looking for trouble."

Bobby shook his head. "Just sayin'. The nasties hear you boys're back together, may have other ideas."

"Seriously, if Dean still had his mojo, might be worried," Sam commented.

"Just givin' ya a head's up," Bobby said.

"Noted, Bobby," Sam responded. "But Dean's my priority, OK? He's all I care about right now."

~oOo~

Meanwhile, in the living room, Dean sat on Bobby's old couch pretending to watch TV on a low volume. Over the years he had gotten real good at listening in to the other guys' conversations undetected. It had saved his life more than once.

Dean wasn't really following the exact words too well, didn't really understand the meaning, but he had picked up on Sam wanting to care for him. That made him happy. If Sam was telling it to someone else he had to mean it. It wasn't just some lie meant to trick him into being good.

Dean felt safe with Sam. Sam was a regular citizen, not a punk or a hoodlum and, in Dean's opinion, unusually mellow for a manly guy. Sam was the nicest guy he had ever belonged to, and Dean was pleased that he wanted to keep him.

He was going to make sure Sam didn't change his mind.

TBC

* * *

A/N: Dean is learning to trust a little now, maybe. More tomorrow.


	6. Chapter 6

Summary: Dean was kidnapped by bikers at age thirteen, and had been traded as a slave for many years. An adult Sam has finally tracked him down. AU Sam/Dean wincest Warning: mention of past non-con.

* * *

Riding Bitch (Part 6) by frostygossamer

* * *

After their steak dinner, they all sat around in Bobby's living room feeling bloated and content, watching something random on TV. Bobby opened a case of beer and offered a can to Sam, who took it gratefully. Then he offered one to Dean. Dean regarded it balefully.

"It's OK, Dean. Take it," Sam encouraged, thinking that his brother was just being shy again.

Dean frowned. "Sure," he said, taking the can reluctantly.

They drank a few cans each, and the conversation was starting to get high-spirited. Sam and Bobby were swapping silly jokes back and forth, when Dean decided it would be prudent to sneak away before things turned nasty. Because Dean knew from experience that guys and alcohol, when mixed together, would inevitably turn nasty. And he didn't want to be the one they turned nasty on.

Bobby and Sam continued drinking until it started to get dark. Eventually Bobby noticed that Sam's eyelids were drooping, and so he suggested they all get themselves to bed. Sam looked around and noticed, for the first time, that Dean wasn't in the room any more. So he went on up to Bobby's spare bedroom, assuming Dean had gone up ahead.

He was a little surprised to find no sign of Dean upstairs. Coming out of the guest bedroom, Sam knocked on Bobby's bedroom door. The old guy opened it with a dopey smile on his whiskery face.

"Dean's not in bed," Sam told him. "Where the hell has he gotten himself to?"

"Well, he sure as hell wouldn't be in here," Bobby chuckled. "You looked outside?"

It was pretty cold out. Sam went downstairs and took a look around the yard, before discovering Dean curled up asleep in the backseat of his car, John's jacket for a blanket. Smiling to himself, Sam leaned in the window.

"Hey," he said, shaking his brother's shoulder.

Dean snapped awake and scurried to the far side of the car, backing up against the door.

"Hey, hey. 'S OK," Sam assured him, lisping slightly, with his hands held up in a gesture of peace.

"You're stewed," Dean accused quietly.

"A little," Sam conceded. "Whatcha doing out here? Hidin'?"

Dean didn't reply. If he was going to get punished, talking back wasn't going to help him. Sensing his brother's apprehension, Sam took a step back and straightened up.

"Not mad, Dean," he said. "But you're right, I AM a little trashed. And I'm sleepy as hell. You wanna stay out here, be my guest. If you wanna come inside where it's warm, that's up to you."

He turned and went indoors. Bobby was standing on the stairs in his dressing gown, and looked askance as Sam passed by. Sam nodded to him and kept on walking back upstairs.

"He crashed in my car," he explained. "Me, I'm going to bed."

~oOo~

Next morning Sam woke up with Dean in his bed as usual, curled up tight against his side. It felt better somehow. He stirred and stretched. Dean's eyes opened and stared at him.

"You came inside," Sam observed.

"You're not so bad drunk," Dean admitted. "Waited till you were asleep. It was kinda cold out."

"Glad I could get you all warmed up," Sam remarked without thinking.

Dean smirked. "You got me warmed up REAL good," he murmured approvingly.

Sam considered the suggestiveness of that comment for a moment, then abruptly decided to get out of bed. Sitting up suddenly jumpstarted his hangover with a bump.

"Jeez, gotta find me some aspirin and rehydrate," he gasped as he staggered woozily toward the bathroom.

Under the blankets, Dean sniggered to himself and snuggled back down into the warm imprint Sam's body had left in the mattress.

~oOo~

When Dean came downstairs later, Bobby and Sam were both sitting at the kitchen table sipping black coffee and looking the worse for wear. Dean smirked surreptitiously and helped himself to a mugful.

With a straight face he asked, "Anybody feel like breakfast?"

Bobby sighed loudly and Sam let out a groan.

"I may seriously never drink again," he moaned.

"Wise decision," Bobby concurred weakly.

"Gonna make you some eggs," Dean said. "And maybe some nice, fat, greasy-ass sausages."

Sam winced and groggily commented, "This is all YOUR fault, dude."

Dean froze. "H-how?" he asked warily. This was how trouble would often start.

"Cos you freakin' sneaked out and Bobby and me had to drink your share of the beer," Sam explained mock-seriously.

Dean relaxed and went back to cracking eggs into a bowl.

"Liquor's worse than crack," he pronounced flatly.

Sam choked out a laugh. "Kinda sounding like a Sunday School teacher there, Dean," he scoffed.

Bobby chuckled too. "Seem to remember having to slap YOUR hands a few times for getting into my whiskey back in the day, boy," he commented.

Dean took some sausages out of the fridge, dropped them in a frypan and continued talking without turning around.

"They feed you liquor to soften you up. Once you're juiced you can't fight back for shit. Sometimes they WANT you to fight, then they just drink the booze themselves and get batshit crazy. Don't give you enough to knock you out. Reckon it's more fun if you know what's going down and can't do a damn thing to stop it. Sometimes, when it all gets too bad, you steel a bottle and try to deaden the pain. They find out, they make you pay for it, the hard way. Least with crack you might just OD if you're lucky. Liquor, you almost always wake up."

Sam and Bobby stared at each other, instantly sobered up.

"Holy heck," Bobby whispered.

"I am seriously NEVER gonna drink again," Sam declared.

~oOo~

Eventually it was time for Sam and Dean to go on home. As Sam carried his things out to his car, Bobby stopped him.

"Why don't you take your daddy's car?" he suggested.

Sam hesitated. John's Impala had been standing out back of Bobby's place under a tarp ever since John had been gone. Sam hadn't dared even look at her, but Bobby had kept her for him, until he was ready.

"Reckon Dean might appreciate it," Bobby added. "Kinda homey."

Sam nodded. Dean had always loved that car. They walked around to the back, and Bobby pulled the tarp off of the car with a flourish.

"She's looking good, ain't she?" he said with a smile. "Been turnin' her over once and again. Put a little gas in her, she's ready to go."

"Oh Jeez, Bobby," Sam gasped and then grinned. "She's beautiful."

Sam had some good memories of the Impala, but he hadn't ridden in her more than a handful of times after his brother had disappeared. They gassed her up and pulled her around front. When Dean appeared at the door with his duffle he did a double-take.

"Crap," he hissed. "The freakin' Impala. Thought I'd never see that baby again."

They loaded up and wished Bobby goodbye. Sam hugged the old guy like a bear and then stood back. Bobby extended a hand toward Dean who, to his surprise, took a hesitant step forward and then flung his arms around him. Bobby gasped and chuckled.

"Enjoy the trip home, son," he said. "And don't be a goddamn stranger."

They got in the Chevy and drove away.

~oOo~

Dean was totally choked up to be in the Impala again. He kept running his hands over the dashboard and the leather seats appreciatively.

Sam had to chuckle. "We had some good times in this car, didn't we, huh Dean?" he remarked.

Dean nodded. "Uh-huh," he agreed. "Good memories. Missed this baby so damn much."

Sam laughed. "Soon as we get home gonna get you a freakin' driver's license. Get you driving again, right? You like the sound of that?"

Dean grinned like a monkey. "Awesome," he responded enthusiastically.

~oOo~

Since it was a two day journey home, they stopped again at that same motel they had stayed in on the way out. For dinner they shared a pizza in a place down the block. Part way through the meal, Sam got a call on his cell phone. The display revealed it was from FBI Agent Henricksen.

"What the hell does Henricksen want," Sam grumbled, flipping open his cell. "We were supposed to be off of the radar."

He answered the call tetchily. "What?"

Henricksen wanted to talk to Sam about Dean. He said he needed to interview Dean, specifically about any other stolen youngsters he might have come into contact with. The Feds were keen to clear up a whole bunch of missing persons cases. Sam wasn't happy about that.

"That wasn't our deal," he insisted angrily. "The deal was Dean walks away, no questions, no reminders, just like he was never there. My agenda was getting my brother back. Taking the gang down was yours."

Henricksen wasn't happy with that attitude, and he tried to talk Sam into letting him quiz Dean anyways, for the sake of the families. Sam wasn't too pleased about the Fed appealing to his better nature that way.

"OK," he said finally. "Guess I better let you talk with him. Guess I can understand how the families need closure. Been there myself. But you need to know up front, Dean's name stays out of it for sure. No publicity, no day in court, nothing."

Henricksen made an affirmative noise at his end of the line, and Sam snapped his cell shut angrily. He was so riled up he stayed that way all evening.

~oOo~

Back in their motel room Sam flung himself down in a chair, face in his hands. He was mad as hell at being talked into agreeing to something he had set his mind dead against.

"Where did that bastard Henricksen get off with that attitude," he thought.

He was so damn furious with himself that he failed to notice the effect he was having on his brother.

"Go to bed, Dean," he snapped, when Dean set a glass of water on the table in front of him. "Go."

Dean flinched away, as Sam flung his head back in his chair and raked his hand through his long hair, and he scuttled off into the bathroom. When he came out a few minutes later, Sam got up and stamped in himself, slamming the door shut behind him a little harder than he had meant.

A half hour and a relaxing hot shower later, Sam felt better. He walked out of the bathroom to find Dean a small hump hidden under the blankets. Knowing that, even if he slept in the other bed, Dean would probably end up in there anyways, Sam slipped in beside his brother and flicked off the light without a word.

After a few minutes of silence, Sam felt Dean's weight shift on the mattress, and tentative fingers brushed the front of his boxers. Sam froze. As Dean's lips brushed against his cheek, Sam turned to face his brother, grasping his wrist to stay his hand.

"Dean," he hissed, trying to remain calm. "You don't have to do this anymore."

"You're angry," Dean whispered nervously. "Don't want you to be angry. Make you feel better, huh?"

"No!" Sam snapped, abruptly.

Dean recoiled, hiding his face like he thought Sam meant to hit him. It made Sam feel really bad.

"Dean, not angry with you, man," he assured his brother. "Dude, it's OK. Don't have to placate me. Not your job."

Dean almost laughed. Sam's old girlfriend was gone, right? Of course it was his job.

"Don't have to," Dean agreed meekly. "Want to."

Sam wasn't sure if Dean really meant that, or if it was just an automatic attempt to appease him. He sensed that Dean was searching for what Sam wanted him to say. He had been well trained.

Sam suddenly realized that he was holding Dean's wrist way too tight. He let go and immediately Dean's hand slid inside his boxers. Sam's manhood reacted to the touch before his brain did.

"Dean," he gasped. "I'm your goddamn brother. You know that."

"Know that," Dean agreed. "You were Baby Sammy."

He said it like it was an obvious fact that had no bearing on the situation. Sam squirmed and pulled Dean's hand out of his underwear. Trying to keep his voice calm and unthreatening he said,

"It's OK, Dean. Don't need this. Not angry anymore. Go to sleep. Everything's OK."

Dean didn't look very sure but he complied.

"Go to sleep. OK," he repeated, and shuffled away to the side of the bed, like he'd been banished.

Sam summoned up a smile. "It's fine, Dean. Didn't do anything wrong," then with a twinge of guilt, "Want a hug, huh?"

Dean nodded and allowed Sam to wrap his long, comforting arms around him and crush him against his chest.

"It's OK," Sam murmured into Dean's sandy hair.

Dean sighed and hummed contentedly against Sam's skin, and Sam wondered why he still felt a little hard.

"Dude, maybe from now on you better sleep in your own bed," he told his brother.

~oOo~

A few days later Sam got a call from his doctor about Dean. He sighed in relief when he heard the results, no hep, no STDs, and thank God, no HIV.

Their visit to Sam's GP hadn't been Dean's favourite outing. He had objected very strongly to taking his clothes off for the kindly old physician, even after checking out his medical certificates on the wall. Sam had had to come in the office and act chaperone before Dean would even let the doc's stethoscope near him. But he had been surprisingly calm about the needles, until he saw the guy was drawing stuff OUT.

Sam thought it was all pretty funny. He knew Dean had hated doctors even as a kid. That was one thing about him that hadn't changed.

They came away with a prescription, as long as a pool cue, for vitamin supplements, antibiotics and steroids. But happily the doctor's verdict had been, physically 'not too bad considering'.

Mentally was another story.

~oOo~

They had been back at Sam's place a couple weeks when Henricksen turned up to interview Dean. From the look on Sam's face when he opened the door to him, the Fed could see that the younger Winchester still wasn't happy about the whole idea.

Sam told him that his brother had been through too much. He deserved to be able to forget, to move on. Sam knew that would be hard, but raking up bad memories was only going to make it harder.

Henricksen wasn't ready to give up and turn around. Sam suspected that the guy was thinking about how great a good clear up of cold cases would look for his career.

"Let's go ask the guy himself," he insisted. "I'm sure he knows how important his contribution could be to so many people."

TBC

* * *

A/N: So the FBI are keen for Dean's help after all. More tomorrow.


	7. Chapter 7

Summary: Dean was kidnapped by bikers at age thirteen, and had been traded as a slave for many years. An adult Sam has finally tracked him down. AU Sam/Dean wincest Warning: mention of past non-con.

* * *

Riding Bitch (Part 7) by frostygossamer

* * *

Sam led Henricksen in the kitchen, indicating for Dean to follow, and they all sat down around the kitchen table.

"I have here a bunch of photographs, Mr. Winchester," Henricksen began. "Chopsaw's ex-associate Hound Dog McMurdo gave us a heads up on a few of them. Guy turned state's evidence when the judge handed down life."

He opened his briefcase and carefully laid out a number of photographs of missing kids side by side on the table. Some were old vacation snaps, faded and dog-eared, some pictures copied from school yearbooks. The kids in them smiled out happily, unaware of their impending fates.

"Recognize anyone?" he asked hopefully.

Dean studied the photos for a few moments in silence, and then he picked up about half and handed them to the Fed.

"Those I met," he said simply.

Then he carefully picked up one more snap.

"And this one," he said. "This one for sure is dead."

He handed the picture over with some reluctance.

"That was Cassie," he explained. "She was a good friend. She was Bolo's. He killed her."

Henricksen perked up. "You saw him do it?" he asked.

"No," Dean shook his head. "Didn't see. But I know he did it. Heard him beat on her that night. Heard her cry out. Saw her dead next morning, when he dumped her body."

Dean took a deep breath to compose himself, a mixture of sorrow and anger welling up inside, and Sam squeezed his shoulder in sympathy. Henricksen's delight was evident.

"That's perfect," the Fed declared. "Cassie Robinson's mother Audrey has been pushing her daughter's case ever since the body was found in a shallow grave last year. Maybe you know her husband was murdered in what seems to have been a racially motivated attack? Mrs. Robinson has devoted herself to not letting another family member's death go unpunished."

Henricksen gathered his photographs and tucked them back into the pockets of his briefcase, then he smiled at Dean.

"We'd like you to testify. With a witness the bureau should be able to make this one stick. Audrey Robinson will get justice at least."

Before Dean could reply, Sam interrupted, pointing an irate finger at the agent.

"Told you I don't want Dean involved in any court case, Henricksen. He doesn't need this. He's been through enough already. Go find yourself another witness."

But Dean stopped him, grabbing his hand. "No, Sam. Wanna do this," he said.

Sam glared in his brother's eyes earnestly. "Dean, you don't need this. Chopsaw's gang are gonna get theirs, even without you," he insisted.

Dean stared right back at him. "Owe it to Cassie," he said flatly.

Sam sighed. Although it went against his better judgement, he realized he shouldn't try and stop Dean if he really wanted to do this. His brother was an adult and had a right to make up his own mind. Sam really did not own him. He leaned back in his chair, waving his hand to indicate that he was backing down.

Dean leaned toward Henricksen and spoke slowly and firmly.

"Agent Henricksen, Cassie was a beautiful person and a good friend of mine, when I most needed a friend. That worthless shitface Bolo took her life like she was jack squat. Wanna make that bastard pay. Wanna see him squirm. Wanna see them all goddamn squirm. Wanna be there when they take the freakin' stainless steel ride."

Henricksen grinned. "That's the right spirit," he applauded, standing up. "I'm gonna get this show moving right along. This Bolo guy and his biker pals are gonna wish they'd never been born."

~oOo~

Sam was glad to finally see Henricksen out to his car. Dean had clearly been shaken by the images he had been forced to look at. Sam was worried that the Fed expected too much of him. After all Dean wasn't just some witness. He was a victim.

However, when Sam came back in the kitchen he couldn't help but notice that Dean seemed to be sitting a couple inches taller than before.

"Sorry you had to go through that, dude," Sam said. "Henricksen has no right to expect you to make his case for him. He seems to forget you were a victim in all this."

"No, Sam," Dean growled, taking his brother by surprise. "Not a freakin' victim. Not anymore. Those mothers are gonna pay for Cassie and me and all the other damn kids they took and beat and gang-raped. Owe it to all the kids who didn't make it, and all the kids still out there."

Sam took a chair beside his brother, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"You sure about this?" he asked quietly. "Henricksen is asking one helluva thing. Not gonna let him break you over it. He can find some other poor stiff to use."

"I'm not some poor goddamn stiff, Sam. And I AM doing this," Dean retorted decisively.

Sam could tell from the determined look in his brother's eyes that he meant what he said. Dean put his hand over the big hand on his shoulder.

"As long as I have you to back me up, Sam, I'll be fine," he insisted.

"You can always count on me, Dean," Sam responded. "Totally here for you."

Dean smiled grimly, and Sam could tell from the determination on his face that there was going to be no way he could talk his brother out of doing this. He had made up his mind.

Sam suddenly felt like getting out of the house.

"C'mon," he said grabbing his jacket. "Let's get outta here. I'll buy you dinner. Know a great place."

~oOo~

They drove to Sam's favourite neighbourhood bar. The owner was a lively woman in her mid-fifties, and she had a real soft spot for the lanky Sam. He could always expect a warm welcome, and bar food in generous portions.

The brothers sat down in a booth at the opposite end from the jukebox, where it was quiet enough to easily hold a conversation. The owner came over right away, her rosy face wearing a friendly smile.

"Hi there, Sam," she said. "How are you today?"

"Good and hungry," Sam replied, grinning back at her. "Alice, I'd like you to meet my brother, Dean."

It felt kind of good to be able to introduce his brother around. Alice beamed at the newcomer.

"Hi there, Dean," she said. "Glad to meet ya. Name's Alice. So, what can I get for you boys?"

Dean glanced at Sam and Sam chuckled. "We'll have a couple cold ones, Alice. Light beer," he added, glancing at Dean. "Not decided what we wanna eat yet."

Alice raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Well, take all the time you need," she responded and bustled off.

"Made your mind up what you want?" Sam asked his brother.

"Dunno," Dean replied. "What's good here?"

Sam looked at him. "Not gonna choose for you, man. Gotta learn to choose for yourself. Take a gamble."

Dean fidgeted. "You gonna have a burger, huh?" he asked.

Sam adopted a neutral expression. "Dean," he reproached him.

Dean sighed. "OK, I'll have a cheeseburger and, you know, the works."

"Sure," Sam nodded with a grin. "Gonna get Alice's meatloaf special. It's her grandmomma's recipe and it's always good. I'll let you try it, and next time there'll be two choices you can make. OK?"

It felt like Sam was taking a kid out for the first time.

"Remember when you used to do that with me, huh?" he asked. "When I was six years old, and I hated to try anything new."

Dean grinned. "Yeah, I remember, Sam. It's just... It's been a long time since I did anything but play safe. Kinduva habit."

"I know," Sam chuckled. "Don't sweat it. It's gonna take a while."

Beyond the jukebox there was an alcove with a pool table. Sam noticed Dean eyeing it as he ate his burger.

"You still know how to play pool?" he asked.

He recalled how, even at thirteen, Dean could easily trounce even their dad on the pool table. Dean swallowed his last huge bite in one.

"Uh-huh," he replied. "The guys sometimes needed a shill to get the locals interested. But I always had to lose." He smirked. "Sometimes that wasn't easy."

So, after they had finished eating, they had a game of pool. Despite leading a law-abiding life, Sam had kept his hand in with a little pool-sharking. It had helped with college expenses.

Even Sam had to admit that Dean was still pretty damn hot, at pool. And, as his brother bent over the table, Sam had to admit to himself that he could totally get what lecherous guys had seen in his brother.

A group of locals began to gather by the pool table, enjoying the show. Then a lovely blonde wandered over and draped herself on Sam's shoulder.

"You and your friend like to show us how to play?" she asked, sharing a smile with a sexy brunette who was watching Dean's butt admiringly.

Sam smirked. "Charlene," he said. "You and Tammy know damn well how to play pool."

"Didn't say show us how to play POOL," she pointed out naughtily, and gave a pretty laugh.

Charlene and Tammy were girlfriends and bar regulars, not exactly tramps but kind of easy just the same. Sam couldn't help but like them. They were fun. So he challenged them to a couple games.

"Dean," he said, when his brother had taken his shot. "This is Charlene and Tammy. Friends of mine. We're gonna thrash them on the table."

Dean glanced at the two pretty women, and a cheeky grin lit up his face.

"OK, ladies," he said. "Prepare to be thrashed."

Twenty minutes later, Dean was leaning over a giggling Tammy as she let him help her to line up a shot, when he glanced up and caught Sam and Charlene getting very friendly in the corner. Dean suddenly stiffened and stood up.

"Hey," Tammy objected, as he strode toward his brother.

He seized Sam by the shoulder and spun him around.

"Not the deal," he growled and walked past him into the bar.

Sam rolled his eyes and followed Dean into the main barroom, catching up with him by the entrance and grabbing his arm.

"What's wrong?" he demanded. "We were just starting to have fun."

Sam was surprised to find that Dean was quivering with emotion. He looked far from happy.

Dean sighed shakily and said, "Wanna go home, Sam."

Sam nodded. Explanations could wait.

"OK," he said. "Let's go."

~oOo~

It was late when they got back from the bar, and they were both ready to turn in for the night. Dean went ahead, while Sam locked up, and he disappeared into his own room.

When Sam came out of the bathroom in his night things, he dived straight into his bed. He lay back and closed his eyes for a second, falling immediately into a light doze.

A half hour later he felt a warm hand grasp his right ankle, and he was suddenly bolt awake. His eyelids fluttered open and he glanced around. Dean was kneeling on the bottom of his bed, having thrown back the comforter, eyes downcast and completely naked, left hand stroking Sam's ankle. He was as pale and beautiful as an alabaster cupid in the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains.

"Dean," Sam gasped. "What the hell are you doing?"

Dean placed his right hand on Sam's knee and followed it up the bed, as he slid his fingers along the inside of Sam's leg to the top of his thigh.

"Being a good boy," he whispered. "Gonna show you what a good boy I can be."

Sam jack-knifed up and grasped Dean's wrist, just as his hand was about to slip into Sam's shorts.

"Dean, you're my brother," he hissed.

Dean raised his head and regarded Sam without blinking.

"You own me," he said quietly. "You won me. Never wanted Chopsaw's sweet Hog. Wanted me. All the time it was me. And now I'm yours."

He sounded so naive, so innocent. Dean's free hand had slipped up inside Sam's T-shirt, caressing his abs. Sam's heartbeat quickened, his breath faltering.

"Dean. You're my BROTHER," he repeated. "We can't do this."

Dean tilted his face downward and looked up at Sam through his long eyelashes.

"Can," he whispered, then he leaned in to press his lips against the pulse point of Sam's neck. "Don't... need... no... chick..."

Sam inhaled sharply, as a shudder ran through his body. He let go Dean's hand and his head fell back, allowing Dean access to his throat. Dean's left hand slipped around his back, his right hand coming around his shoulder, as he pressed his body up against the taller guy.

With a despairing sigh, Sam collapsed back onto the bed, pulling Dean down with him. Dean chuckled softly and yanked Sam's shirt off over his head, climbing into his lap, tugging down his shorts, getting ready to ride him. Sam exhaled raggedly. This was going to happen.

Then, in the dappled light, Sam's eyes fell on the outline of a vicious scar disfiguring his brother's upper arm, an ugly red mark against the pallor of his skin, a burn shaped like a dollar sign struck out.

"What the fuck is that?" he demanded, sitting up and grabbing at Dean's shoulder with both hands, angling it toward the light. Why had he hidden it from him till now?

Dean froze. "It's a brand," he answered in a whisper. "They branded me. Because I tried to run all the time. It means... It means worthless, next time they kill you." He sounded a little ashamed.

Sam snarled in disgust. "Bastards."

Then suddenly he had come to his senses, and he pushed his brother away, raking is left hand through his hair in angry frustration.

"No," he hissed. "No, Dean. This is wrong."

The look on Dean's face was startled, disappointed, pained.

"Wh-why?" he demanded woundedly.

"Because you're just mixed-up," Sam insisted. "And because it would be incest. Incest is a goddamn sin."

It sounded, even to him, strangely like a desperately weak argument.

Dean pouted. "That's not a reason. It's an excuse," he said.

Inwardly, Sam had to agree. He sighed and touched Dean's face tenderly.

"Can't, mustn't take advantage of you, dude. You don't know what you're doing," he insisted.

Dean scoffed. "I know what I'm freakin' doing," he replied, suddenly not sounding like a kid anymore.

Sam's eyes narrowed. "You think you gotta do this, huh?" he asked. "To seal the deal? You think I won't take care of you if you don't 'pay' your rent. That it?"

Dean looked away. "Gotta be worth keeping," he said, shrugging.

Sam suddenly felt very bad for his brother.

"Oh hell, Dean, ain't gonna throw you out no matter what. You're family. This is where you belong, with me. You don't have to earn your keep, dude."

Dean took a deep breath and exhaled almost like he was fighting a sob.

"Go and get some sleep," Sam said. "Go on."

Dean didn't look much like he wanted to move, so Sam gave in.

"Go get something on and you can sleep here," he said. "And I do mean sleep," he added.

Dean sighed, slowly got down from the bed and vanished to his own room. He didn't come back.

TBC

* * *

A/N: Dean made a play for Sam and it didn't work, this time. More tomorrow.


	8. Chapter 8

Summary: Dean was kidnapped by bikers at age thirteen, and had been traded as a slave for many years. An adult Sam has finally tracked him down. AU Sam/Dean wincest Warning: mention of past non-con.

* * *

Riding Bitch (Part 8) by frostygossamer

* * *

Dean had NOT run back to his own room to cry himself to sleep that night. Hell no. He had simply climbed in the bed and lain staring into the dark, cursing himself for his stupidity, and his uselessness. Couldn't even tempt a guy with a hard-on. Just how freakin' ugly was he?

"Gonna pretend it never happened," Sam said, as he toyed with his breakfast Cheerios. "Last night I mean."

Dean roused from his daydream and put down his spoon. He opened his mouth to reply but his brother stopped him.

"Don't blame you, dude," Sam continued. "It's not your fault. Guess almost fourteen years with those biker assholes is gonna skew anyone's sense of values some. You don't know it's wrong."

Dean smiled at him tolerantly.

"Course I know it's freakin' wrong. Never said I didn't know it was wrong," he contended.

"B-but then why?" Sam stuttered.

Dean shrugged. "Done a helluva lot worse, Sam," he replied, by way of an explanation. "Had a helluva lot worse done TO me. Incest seems pretty nickel-and-dime. Belonging to you, that's way more important."

Sam was shocked by this attitude.

"You don't BELONG to me, dude," he gasped. "You don't BELONG to anyone. Got you OUT of all that. Damn it, Dean, you're FREE now. You can do anything you want, go anyplace you want, anytime."

Dean just glared back at him.

"Don't get it, do you?" he asserted. "Don't do 'free'. Don't know what the hell 'free' is. All I know is I can't make it on my own. Don't WANNA make it on my own. Need to belong to somebody, somebody tough. That's how it works."

"Dean, you're a grown man. You don't NEED anyone," Sam retorted.

Dean shook his head like Sam was talking dumb.

"Need YOU, Sam," he insisted. "Can't sleep alone, can't live on my own, can't survive, and wouldn't want to. I'm not some idiot. I do know you're my brother, but that didn't help me back then. Don't need me a baby brother, Sam. Now what I need is you to be a MAN for me. I got to choose this time, for the first time, and I chose you. Need YOU to choose ME."

Sam felt a little shell-shocked by that outburst.

"D-Dean," he stammered, leaning toward his brother. "I... I... DO love you, man. But I can't..."

Dean narrowed his eyes challengingly. "Then I'm gonna have to find me some guy who can," he said flatly.

With that said, he leaped up from the table and stormed out of the house, banging the front door shut behind him.

~oOo~

Sam had to resist the urge to run after his brother, and drag him straight back home. Dean was an adult. Hell, he was four years older than Sam. He had a right to do whatever he wanted. And since he had just gotten done telling Dean he wasn't anyone's property anymore, he couldn't exactly go treating him like he was.

Sam told himself he did not OWN his brother, and so he waited until the afternoon had come and gone, without sight or sound of Dean, before he let himself start to panic.

After Dean's lecture about liquor, Alice's Bar wasn't the first place Sam thought to look for him. But as soon as he arrived there, he wished it had been.

There were four motorcycles parked outside.

Sam walked inside, his eyes immediately searching out his brother. Dean was in the alcove playing pool with some cowboy. It looked like a friendly game. The guy was about forty and heavy-set, amiable-looking enough. Two ugly guys were standing beside the table watching the game. The fourth probable motorbike owner was sitting at the bar, staring blankly into a beer. Sam took a stool at the bar and ordered himself a drink.

Sam had a good view of the pool table from where he was sitting. He had to admire his brother's skill, potting each ball with efficiency and flair. After potting the 8-ball Dean took a step back, as the heavy-set guy came forward to pot his own suit. Then Dean moved toward the two ugly guys, and spoke with them for a second. Something Sam couldn't hear from where he sat.

Sam really didn't like the look of those guys. They looked a little too much like the reprobates he had snatched his brother back from, not so long ago. Trust Dean to go after another biker hard guy, like some battered woman who unconsciously seeks out one violent partner after another. It was classic, and it made Sam uneasy.

The two guys guffawed loudly. One guy slapped the other guy on the back, and this other guy leaned toward Dean and... squeezed his butt. Then, far from slapping his hand away, Dean turned and smiled at him, that sexy smile of his.

Sam ground his teeth. He did so NOT like the look of that guy.

"Oh no", he thought, absurdly angry. "Not my brother you don't."

He charged across the room, and punched the guy right on the nose. He had taken the biker completely by surprise, even his buddy took a second to react. But then suddenly they were both on Sam, punching and kicking. Their heavy-set pal, who had been too intent on his game to notice for a moment, waded in too. Over at the bar, the fourth member of the group jumped up, confused.

Despite the somewhat uneven-looking odds, Sam was easily holding his own against three admittedly less fit guys, actually enjoying the chance to vent his frustrations on someone.

Dean looked on shocked and concerned, both pleased and worried that Sam should be in there fighting for him, however misguidedly. When bar-guy came over, Dean grabbed him by the arm and held him back.

"Not your freakin' fight," he hissed in his ear. The guy hesitated.

Suddenly there was a loud clickety-clink, and they all looked around to see the bar owner Alice standing behind her bar, brandishing a shotgun.

"This here double-barreled's loaded with bird shot. And you're gonna find out how that feels in your damn behinds, if you don't quit your brawlin' and get to blazes outta here," she yelled.

They all dropped their fists for a moment, and Sam took the opportunity to grab Dean and hightail it out of the bar. Sam pushed Dean into the Impala, and they shot out of the parking lot before the brawlers could regroup enough to follow.

"Damn bikers," Sam growled.

"They were mailmen," Dean said dryly. "Wannabes on a freakin' road trip."

Sam shrugged. "Shouldn't've been touching you that way."

Dean liked the sound of a possessive Sam.

"They were being friendly," he insisted. "Had a lot worse."

"Yeah, I know," Sam groaned. "You've had a whole lot worse. That's why I thought... Maybe find you a chick, but... Thought you'd never want a guy touch you again. Not REALLY want."

"Something you get used to," Dean commented matter-of-factly.

Sam winced. "It's not right," he snapped.

He exhaled deeply, and pulled the Impala over onto the side of the road. He turned and studied Dean for a moment, then he laid his hand against his brother's cheek.

"When I look at you, I still see the thirteen-year-old mini-mom who used to take care of me. Makes me feel like that little kid again," he explained.

"I don't feel that way," Dean said. "I remember that little kid Sammy and I see Sam, a full-grown stud. To me you're just a guy, a sweetheart of a guy and a guy I wanna be with. You make me feel good."

"You... you shouldn't feel that way," Sam stammered.

Dean smiled faintly. "Shouldn't feel ANY way I feel, Sam, but I can't help it. That's just how it is."

"Don't get it," Sam sighed. "Dude, you never used to be even bi."

Dean chuckled. "Been fielding for the wrong team so long I got good at it."

Sam grimaced. "Man, you oughta be with some nice little chick."

Dean rolled his eyes. "A chick won't cut it, Sam. I can't be expected to take care of a chick... or a kid brother. Need more than that. Need someone like you. Cos you're strong. You stood up to them. You make me feel safe, Sam."

"Just don't think you understand what you're saying," Sam admitted. "Man, we are BROTHERS. That's all screwed up."

"Oh, Sam, I understand more than you could ever freakin' know," Dean responded, like some wise old soul. "Seen evil, yeah, and sin, and this isn't it. This is about love, man. Damn true."

"I, uh, I do love you, Dean," Sam gasped, uncertainly.

Dean reached over and smoothed Sam's shaggy hair tenderly.

"You wanna love me? That's awesome. Wanna love you too," he said. "But this is the only kinda love I have for you now. It's all I got. Sam, it's all yours if you want it."

Sam felt his moral scruples crumble and collapse. A cold tear ran across his cheek, as he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his brother's lips.

"Want it," he whispered in a soft assent.

Sam began to cover Dean's mouth and neck with kisses. Dean spread his knees and pulled his brother into his arms. He tasted, Sam noticed, of cherries.

"Yours," Dean murmured. "Any way you want it."

~oOo~

Back at the bar, the four motorbikers had helped each other off of the floor and huffily dusted themselves down.

The one who had patted Dean's ass grumbled, "Last time I help some goddamn fairy mess with his boyfriend's goddamn head."

His buddies laughed. They slapped him on the back and one commented, "Coulda told ya, don't NEVER get between a bull and his cow."

~oOo~

When Dean finally got his day in court, he found he was one of three abducted witnesses testifying. The FBI had found only three who were fit enough and mentally strong enough to take part. The other two were both girls, women now.

The first, a skinny blonde, Marie, with a haunted look, had apparently given birth to two babies during the years she was in the hands of the bikers. Neither infant had been allowed to live.

The second was an Asian girl, Lily, with a cold gaze and an abrasive manner born of many years of ill-use. It had left her with scars and needle tracks all over her arms.

Sam was shocked to hear Dean knew both these women by name. He noticed that they all hugged each other like long-lost, well, like long-lost family.

Each day Sam sat in the public gallery and listened to the whole thing. He felt he needed to. He felt that otherwise he would never be able to get the full measure of what his brother had been through.

The girls' testimonies where harrowing. Sam could only marvel at the strength of mind it must have taken the witnesses to stand up and relive their experiences before a full court. Even watching those arrogant bastard bikers being led handcuffed to the stand would have been more than he could have borne.

Dean's testimony was no less painful. Sam was proud of his brother, prouder than he could express.

~oOo~

On Dean's first day in the witness stand the ADA had introduced him, as he had the others, by asking him to recount the circumstances of his original abduction.

Dean gave a vivid account of the initial days of his captivity, from the moment when his feet were yanked from the sidewalk, through the untold hours he had spent imprisoned alone in the darkness of an abandoned factory, up to and including the beatings, rape and torture he had suffered at the hand of the bikers, to 'soften him up'. After three or four days of that treatment, he had been given to a pedo biker named Clay, his first owner.

All this had occurred, Sam painfully recalled, during the first week of Dean's disappearance, while their dad had been searching frantically and in vain, eyes wild with anger and growing dread.

The prosecutor had then asked Dean to recount, for the court, the worst thing he recalled happening to him while he was in the biker's hands. Dean didn't hesitate, his memory of the incident crystal clear in his mind.

~oOo~

One of the girls had found him sitting alone, he guessed looking kind of sad.

She had asked him, kindly enough, "Why more glum today than yesterday, hun?"

"Woulda been my birthday", he had said. "Woulda been sixteen today."

She had smiled sadly and wished him, "Happy Birthday", and had given him a little peck on the cheek.

It made him feel a little better. And it wasn't her fault. He really didn't blame her, but for some reason she'd told it to his boss, a guy who went by the name 'Coyote'.

Coyote was a jerk and a bully. He was kinduva big man in his chapter, but everyone knew he was more mouth than brain. Coyote thought he was a funny guy and he thought this was hilarious. He decided he had to celebrate Dean's special day.

"Sweet sixteen," he had said chuckling cruelly. "Now how do we memorialize this little milestone, huh? Ooh! Yeah, I know..."

Coyote made Dean 'pull a train'. They bent him over a truck hood and held him down, pinned his arms and ankles, his screams muffled by a filthy rag stuffed in his mouth.

At this point the judge stopped Dean to have him explain his terminology.

"Sixteen guys, one after the other," he explained, staring straight ahead.

The judge frowned, correctly inferring his meaning. There were hushed gasps in the jury box and gallery, and, Sam noticed, anger mounting, at least one titter somewhere behind him.

"Callous bastards," Sam thought, snarling inwardly and glaring over his shoulder.

"Took more than an hour, brought me 'round with cold water more than once," Dean continued.

The prosecutor pursed his lips. "And, for the record, this was competely non-consensual?"

"Totally," Dean agreed. "But I survived it," he added defiantly.

At the end of the session, Sam collected Dean from the court, and took him back to the hotel they had been sequestered in. After a silent journey and a silent dinner, Dean was so mentally and physically exhausted that all he could do was go to bed and fall asleep in his brother's arms.

Not a word was spoken. Dean was all talked out.

TBC

* * *

A/N: Authentic biker punishment, apparently. One more chapter left.


	9. Chapter 9

Summary: Dean was kidnapped by bikers at age thirteen, and had been traded as a slave for many years. An adult Sam has finally tracked him down. AU Sam/Dean wincest Warning: mention of past non-con.

* * *

A/N: Sorry about the day's delay but real life got in the way. I've got the builders in and it's like Grand Central Station around here. I've hardly had a minute to 'play', as my mother calls it, on my laptop. :)

So, at last, the final, slightly longer part...

* * *

Riding Bitch (Part 9) by frostygossamer

* * *

The next day Sam wasn't any too ready to let Dean continue his testimony. He reckoned it was taking too much out of him. He wanted to give Henricksen a piece of his mind. But Dean was resolute and determined about continuing.

"Gotta do this," he told his brother. "Not gonna chicken out. Hell no!"

Sam was concerned but also deeply impressed. He relented.

The ADA had been clever. He had gotten Dean to talk about his most painful experiences, his worst trauma, in open court. From then on, the prosecution could be sure that Dean had no reason to hold anything back.

Dean, forced by his circumstances to be ever the player, knew exactly how to wring the pathos out of a good story, but at great cost to himself. Sam could only hope that the ordeal would be cathartic for his brother.

It was.

~oOo~

"Tell the court about the infant 'John'," the prosecutor began, turning to the jury. "A newborn found six years ago, by a woman walking her dobermann, buried in a turnip field twenty miles outside Phoenix."

Dean took a deep breath, and began to recount the event calmly and quietly.

"The chick, Marie, belonged to a guy named Mad Manuel. She had just dropped a baby boy. That was messed up enough, cos Manuel had already kicked one pregnant chick in the stomach until she lost her kid. But Marie had carried this one all the way. It was a cute little thing, though kinda sickly. She'd been smoking weed all through the pregnancy."

"The child was sickly?" the ADA probed.

"Not sick enough to buy the farm," Dean insisted. "Manuel tolerated the kid for a couple days. He had kinduva soft spot for this particular chick, and she had begged and begged him so freakin' hard. But, hell, he was no kinda pushover. The baby's whining got to him. Sure had a pair of lungs on it for a sickly kid."

"And what did this 'Manuel' do?" the ADA asked leadingly.

"Marie tried to make the kid hush, but the thing mewled all the damn time. It wouldn't shut the hell up. So one time Mad Manuel stuck a pillow over it's head and sat on it until it DID shut the hell up. Simple as that."

There was a gasp from a few of the jury, and Dean paused for a dramatic moment before continuing.

"The chick cried. Boy, did she cry. Cried her freakin' heart out, hugging the little broken thing. I knew that she'd keep that up and she'd soon go the same way as her kid. So I took the bundle off of her, dragged it out of her arms, carried it out to the field and buried it. Wrapped it in an old T belonged to it's mama, and said goodbye best I could."

"And you marked the grave?" the lawyer asked, knowing the answer would tally with the forensic report on the case.

"After the body was covered up, I marked the little grave with a smooth stone, and scratched the name 'John' on it. Seemed like the kid deserved a name, seemed like a good name."

Sam sucked in a breath at the mention of their dad's name. He noticed Dean wipe away a solitary tear. It was the first tear Sam had seen him shed since he had gotten him home.

Dean went on, a firm tone entering his voice, "Told Marie, 'He's sleeping peaceful. Better in the end, huh?' then I dried her eyes and sent her in to her boss. She didn't have to die too. Not that day."

You could have heard a pin drop in the court when Dean finished his story. The prosecutor coughed and shuffled for a moment, to let the horror sink in with the jury before continuing. Then he pressed on with the next witness.

~oOo~

That night over dinner in their hotel room, Sam sat staring at his brother, as Dean kept his head lowered over his food, avoiding eye contact. Finally Sam broke the silence.

"I can't... Can't even imagine..." he began.

Dean shuffled awkwardly in his seat. "Crap happens," he said with a shrug.

"I'm SO damn sorry," Sam declared. "About what you had to go through. Man, all the sick shit they did to you."

Dean put down his fork deliberately.

"Didn't want you to know about all this stuff, Sam" he said. "Now you know, you're not gonna feel the same about me. Won't wanna keep me around, huh?"

"Oh, Dean, why wouldn't I wanna keep you around?" Sam demanded. "Wasn't your fault, man. You didn't ask to have to live like that, to be treated that way."

Dean looked down at his hands on the table. "Sometimes I did," he muttered.

"What?" Sam asked, by reflex.

"Sometimes I had to," Dean explained. "Sometimes your body is the only card you have to play. Makes me feel goddamn ashamed."

Sam placed his big hand on his brother's.

"Dean," he said. "It was never your choice. No one's gonna blame you. Least of all me."

Dean smiled sadly and took Sam's hand between both of his.

"You're a good guy, Sam," he said. "Don't deserve you."

"Sure you do," Sam whispered. "You deserve way better than me."

Dean shook his head. "No one better than you, Sam. No one."

After dinner they retired to bed early. The Feds had set them up in a twin room, but one bed never got as much as turned down. Since that time when he and Sam had made out in the Impala, Dean had been welcomed back in Sam's bed.

Seeing what giving testimony was doing to him every day, Sam had come to feel that Dean deserved all the comfort he could give him. Which, for now, meant only snuggling and some affectionate kissing, relatively chaste stuff. Nonetheless, Dean felt like the favoured pet who is allowed to sit on the furniture, and he basked in his little victory.

Dean had won Sam's favour. What more did he need?

~oOo~

Finally they got around to Chopsaw and his gang. Chopsaw had to be one of the worse goddamned monsters Dean had ever come across in his almost fourteen years in biker hell. And Dean had see a BUNCH of real monsters, so he knew what he was talking about. The FBI were more than anxious to get that guy's show off of the road.

"Tell me about the lynchings that took place on the outskirts of Detroit last Fall," the prosecutor began.

He glanced down at the papers spread on his desk.

"The decapitated bodies of three men were found suspended in the woods north of the city. Their heads had previously been found wrapped in garbage bags and dumped in trash cans around the city centre."

Sam had read about this case in the newspapers, never guessing it would relate to the still missing Dean's situation. He recalled that it had been a shock headline that had sickened him over his morning toast and eggs.

Dean hesitated for a moment, debating where to start.

"There were these three guys in Chopsaw's gang. Two of them were cousins, I think, and the other guy was an old buddy, used to hang out with them all the damn time. Seems they had been running some kinda scam, and skimming a little off of the top of the take whenever they thought they could get away with it."

"So basically they were pocketing certain monies for themselves?" the lawyer elucidated.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Then somehow Chopsaw got a smell of it. Now Chopsaw is no forgiving guy. The way he saw it any and every dollar brought in by the gang was his and his alone. It was up to him who he dealt it out to. No one but no one kept folding green stuff from Chopsaw. No one. Stood to reason they were gonna get themselves... punished."

"And where exactly did this happen?"

"Chopsaw and Bolo where crashing at this old flee-bitten motel, got stranded when they rerouted the highway a decade ago. Behind it there was a disused warehouse, used to be a bowling alley, where they hung all day. Chopsaw had Bolo bring the three guys out there for a jaw, nice and friendly. They went along willingly, the dumb-asses."

Dean glanced up at the defendants, sitting there all gussied up and well groomed beside their defense lawyers, smug looks on their masks of faces.

"Stupid knuckleheads reckoned they were smart, figured they were clever enough to fool the boss. The boss didn't exactly graduate school 'cum laude', but he ain't slow neither. In fact, when it comes to cold hard cash he's a freakin' genius, and close to clairvoyant."

Sam glanced over at Chopsaw, and saw that he was almost grinning at that kudos.

"They got to the place, and Chopsaw was there with Bolo and four big guys, playing poker on a crate, all innocent and cracking jokes and crap like that. Guess the three guys were fooled. Figured everything was good. They couldn't have been more wrong."

"Two hours later they were trussed up with piano wire like freakin' turkeys, hanging by their arms from a tree bough, boots flailing wildly in mid-air. Then Chopsaw and Bolo brought out their machetes."

The ADA took a moment right then to explain to the judge that what Dean had described was a form of torture known as 'strappado'. The victim's hands are tied behind their backs and they are then suspended in the air from a rope attached to their wrists. It is known to be incredibly painful.

"And how was it that you witnessed all this?" the ADA asked.

Dean nodded vehemently. "Yeah, well, I saw it all. I was kinda like a ghost. Chopsaw kept me around, but it was like I wasn't there, didn't mean a damn thing. He knew he owned me like he owned his bike. I wasn't ever gonna sing, cos I was a throwaway. I got to see and hear, more than I'd ever have wanted to."

"You saw the defendants, Chopsaw and Bolo, 'despatch' their victims?"

Dean shrugged. "I saw Chopsaw spit in the first guy's face and tell him what he was gonna do. Then he twisted his hand in the guy's long, filthy hair and hacked off his head with his machete. It took two whacks. He didn't make it clean."

"The other two guys screamed and begged and kicked but Chopsaw and Bolo grabbed a head each and 'thwack!'. They wiped their blades on the corpses and left them there swinging in the breeze like some kinda sick pinatas. Both guys were covered in blood. I had to wash out Chopsaw's stuff."

"And the victims' heads? How were they disposed of?"

"That was Bolo's little joke. Chopsaw told him to get rid of the damn heads. Bolo thought it would be laugh-out-loud funny to drop them in city trash cans around town. He was a fun guy."

The ADA turned to the judge and jury theatrically and called the next witness.

~oOo~

When the session broke up for lunch, Dean dragged Sam into the men's restroom and hauled him into a cubicle with him. There was only room to stand pressed up close.

Dean was breathing hard. "I am so freakin' turned on, man. Right now I could pull a train for the whole freakin' jury."

"Dean!" Sam hissed. "How the hell can you joke about a thing like that?"

Dean laughed, his eyes huge like he was high.

"Gonna do me right now, Sam huh? Please," he begged. "Please, please," and he started to unzip his pants right there.

Sam grabbed his hands. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded. "This is the Courthouse. I'm NOT gonna fuck you here."

Dean grinned. "You ARE gonna fuck me someplace, huh? I know you wanna, man."

Sam turned and pushed his way out of the stall, fuming.

"You wanna act like a slut, Dean, then fine," he snapped.

Dean scrabbled out of the stall after him.

"Sam," he said. "Just spilled my guts out on the ground in front of a goddamn judge. Ratted on Chopsaw's gang, broke the Biker Code. You do NOT break the Biker Code, Sam. It's an unwritten law."

He grabbed Sam and pushed him up against the washbasins.

"Did it for Cassie," he said, "and for me and for you, Sam. Did it because you saved me from them. And now I gotta send them right to hell, cos otherwise they WILL find me and hurt me, and everyone I care about, which is basically YOU."

Then he closed his eyes and exhaled.

"My heart is freakin' pounding like a heavy metal track and I need to know, NEED to know that you want me. Cos I jumped ship back there and I freakin' TORCHED the old one. No way back. I need to know. I need you to show me."

Dean stared pleadingly up into Sam's eyes, until Sam grasped him by the back of the neck and pulled him into a vertiginous kiss, plundering Dean's mouth, Dean's hands sliding down inside the back of his jeans.

"I want you," Sam gasped. "NEVER doubt that."

Then the door opened, and a guy in a suit walked in. He stood there staring open-mouthed, until they spotted him and fled.

~oOo~

The prosecution finally got around to Cassie and her sad fate. Dean had to stand there and recount how they first met, and all about their loving friendship, built from adversity.

"She was a nice, quiet girl," Dean explained. "She had been to college, studied journalism. She had a good future ahead of her. But after her daddy's death she fell in with the wrong people. She met a bad guy. He got her into drugs. And then he sold her like a piece of meat. She didn't deserve that."

And then he described the events of the night she died.

"We had been sharing a smoke, talking about stuff, life, whatever. Then Bolo called out to her and she went to him. Cassie was Bolo's girl, you see. From the sound of his voice he was angry."

"Do you know why he was angry?" the prosecutor asked.

"Nope. But that was normal. He was generally angry about something. He knocked Cassie about. She was always covered with bruises from a whopping, a kicking, and maybe a couple cigarette burns to sensitive skin. Bolo was a class act."

"When did you know that something was wrong?" the lawyer pushed.

"Around midnight, when I was trying to get to sleep. I heard Cassie's voice pleading and begging from Bolo's room. I could hear him beating on her. Heard the slaps and punches. Heard Cassie cry out in pain."

"And what did you do?"

Sam noticed a note of self-contempt in Dean's voice as he replied, "Nothing. Not one damn thing. Couldn't help her. Only wish I could. Bolo woulda killed me too, or Chopsaw, his pal, woulda. Lives mean nothing to that guy. He's a psycho."

The prosecutor turned to the judge and talked about Bolo's psychiatric report. He pointed out that Bolo had been adjudged psychologically competent to answer for his crimes. He couldn't plead insanity.

Dean then described how he had seen Bolo drive away with Cassie's body in a rolled-up rug, and return without it. He had recognized the corpse by the small tattoo of a yellow rose on her right ankle.

At this Mrs. Robinson, who was sitting in the back of the gallery, was unable to stifle a loud sob. Sam felt his heart clench in sympathy.

The thought flew through his mind, "Jeez, it could so easily have been Dean who died that night and Cassie sitting there in the witness box."

When Dean finished giving his evidence about Cassie's death, his part in the trial was over.

As Chopsaw and Bolo were led out of court it was plain from their faces, now empty of their former complacency, that they both knew they were headed for Death Row.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. It was over at last. Although he knew that, in some senses, it would never be completely over for Dean. At least Dean had Sam, and Sam would do everything he could to help his brother put the past behind him.

Outside the courtroom, when Sam collected Dean for the last time, Dean attempted a light-hearted smile.

"Those dicks, they really thought no one could touch them," he said.

"Sure, but you showed 'em, huh?" Sam grinned, squeezing his shoulder.

Dean heaved a deep sigh. "Damn shame Cassie wasn't around to see it."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, pausing for a moment. "Wanna go get dinner?"

Dean shook his head. "Wanna go do something life-affirming."

"And what's that?" asked Sam.

Dean smirked. "You."

This time Sam didn't argue.

~oOo~

The moment they got back to their room, Dean grabbed Sam by the shoulders and pushed him up against the bedroom door. He leaned in and pinned him there, chest to chest, as both his hands slid into Sam's hair. Dean mouthed at the tender skin below his brother's ear and Sam groaned weakly.

Then suddenly Sam pushed Dean to arm's length, Dean protesting incoherently.

"You sure about this, Dean?" Sam asked anxiously. "I mean REALLY sure. This is not just you trying to please me again? You really wanna do this? Really want me? Cos if this is in any way a submission thing we should just stay, ya know, brothers. Won't love you any less or want you around any less, I swear."

"Dumb-ass," Dean commented. "Thinking too much again. Just give in for fuck's sake."

He shoved Sam hard against the door, so the back of his head impacted with the wood. Dean chuckled throatily and slid his lips over Sam's, sucking away all his air, showing him this was going to be real.

Sam felt his stomach twist as a shock of electricity passed right through his body, energizing his every last nerve. He opened his mouth and allowed Dean's tongue to search out his tonsils, his brother's fingers cupped around the scruff of his neck.

After a seemingly endless moment, Dean disengaged, causing Sam to growl faintly.

"I'm yours, Sam, yours," Dean whispered huskily. "Know you got a freakin' problem with that. So, you know what? I'm gonna make you mine too. That work for you?"

Sam grinned. "Totally," he agreed.

They moved over to the bed and Dean pulled his shirts off over his head. By the time his face re-emerged, Sam was down to his shorts.

Sam smirked. "C'mon, slowpoke," he encouraged, helping Dean out of his jeans.

Two seconds and they were both naked. Dean crowded Sam up against the bed and Sam dropped onto it, shuffling up to lie comfortably against the pillows. Dean climbed on the bed and crawled over him.

"I freakin' chose you," he reminded Sam, voice raspy with desire. "No one else. Never before. Never freakin' allowed to choose. Chose you on day one. First freakin' time I saw ya. 'Fore I even freakin' knew ya."

Sam smiled up at him fondly, big hand brushing the sandy hair out of Dean's mossy eyes.

"Reckon deep down you knew me, Dean. Deep down you remembered."

Dean leaned down and invaded his mouth again, one hand behind his neck, the other trailing down his side, over his hip, under his thigh.

"Guess... Guess I musta... Knew... knew you were different," he gasped between kisses. "Your eyes on my face... all the goddamn time."

Sam let Dean press him down into the comforter, sliding one leg between his, and rolled his hips up to connect with Dean's body. He felt drunk, heady with desire, craving the feel of Dean's hands on his skin, his warmth on his flesh.

"Never gonna be with anyone you don't want ever again, Dean," Sam promised.

"Never gonna want anyone freakin' else, Sam. Only you," Dean responded. "Always gonna want you."

Sam tried to remind himself that this was a wrong thing that they were doing, but somehow the word seemed false, hollow. This wasn't wrong, it was inescapable. It had been John's prayer to get Dean back, and Sam had gotten Dean back for him, all the way. Dean had come back to Sam and this was how it would be, how it was always gonna be.

And, hey, if it wasn't right, well, Sam couldn't give a crap anymore.

He wrapped his long legs around Dean's waist, wrapped his arms around his shoulders, locked his lips with his brother's.

"I... I love you, Dean," Sam gasped, as their bodies united. "Always."

"Better," Dean hissed, as he pushed them both toward climax. "You better, cos... Oh God, Sam... I freakin' worship you."

Then, as the rush of consummation washed through them both, he pressed his lips to Sam's throat, teeth scraping the skin, and whispered softly,

"Hey, Sammy, I'm home."

The boy who went out for milk was back.

The End

* * *

A/N: There it is then. Hoped you enjoyed it.


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